Thief of Spirits
by Eternity's Voice
Summary: What if Rogue never ended up with the X-Men...or Mystique? A certain Cajun beat them to her and won't let go. Trapped in a secret world where corruption is inevitable, can the pair beat the odds and find love? Or will the LeBeaus’ past destroy them?
1. Ma Petite

Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice  
  
***  
  
WARNING! I seriously do not want to get kicked off this site, so remember that I SAID that this fic is PG-13. It may not be a problem, but I feel a little iffy here and I don't want to bump it to R.  
  
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That done, Thank You for Reading. If the dialogue gets tricky, read it aloud and marvel at your newfound Southern/Creole accent.  
  
***  
  
Our story begins right after our Gothic friend ports into the mausoleum (yes, that thing was a crypt...ick) in Recruiting Rogue...and she finds that she is not alone.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
"Who are you? What are you doin' here?"  
  
"Gambit be the one askin' de questions, Chere. You trespassin' here."  
  
"You're a little far up the Mississippi yahself, Swamp Rat!"  
  
He placed a hand on the crypt. "Remy just payin' his respects, dat's all. He don' t'ink you come to do de same. How you get in here, while we on de trespassin' subject?"  
  
The girl looked around at the stone walls. "I...I don't know."  
  
"Were you runnin', Petite? Remy keep you safe if'n you were."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He crossed the mausoleum and lay on the coffin matching his relative's like it were no more than a couch. Seeing her expression, the young man laughed.  
  
"Remy have no love for his Grandmama's family. Neither did she, just got herself buried wit' dem. Dey insist an' de LeBeaus nevah, nevah look a gift horse in de maw. Grandmama wanted to rest up here anyway. She was a right an' true Suthern Belle, gorgeous as a girl, magnifique as a Woman, wore her age like it weren't there a'tall, brains like lightnin', attitude to de hilt!"  
  
He laughed and looked her way, his shades doing a poor job of concealing his merriment, a contrast to how well they hid his eyes.  
  
"None too different form yo'self, Chere. Dat's why Remy help you, family tradition. Ace Lebeau take Lilly down south out of a world of trouble, and Remy owe him his life fo' dat. Remy take you to N'Awlins, maybe he can blackmail yo' grandchildren one day wit' such a life debt."  
  
A faint blush spread across her face. "Yer gettin' ahead of yourself, Cajun." He laughed.  
  
"Remy's no fool wit' de wimmen, Petite. He know t'ings rarely 'mount to much. But you know Remy's creed? Live life, take ev'ry chance, play de LeBeau charm to a key, an' Gambit come out fine. An' if you don' mind Remy sayin', you look mighty fine, Belle."  
  
She blushed at the praise, but then her thoughts flicked to Matt, who had said something similar on the balcony. Matt was dead on accident but it was her fault. She really didn't trust the smooth talking Swamp Rat. If the man meant her harm, she could just touch him and let her cursed skin finish him off.  
  
"So yer offerin' a ride?" she asked warily.  
  
All of a sudden, she was in his arms. "Yes de Cajun is, Chere. And a word of advice." He tilted her chin with his leather clad hand.  
  
"When a LeBeau give a fille a compliment, she betta accept it if'n she knows what's good fo' her. If she don', den she's insecure. Dere's not'ing a LeBeau man hates more dan a fille who don' know she's gorgeous."  
  
She looked away uncomfortably. "Thanks."  
  
Remy laughed again -he was turning out to be a regular joker. He held onto her wrist and pulled her towards the exit. "Too late, ma Petite. Remy nevah gonna let go 'till you t'ink yo'self de mos' magnifique fille in de world."  
  
.  
  
He pulled her behind him on his motorcycle and took off too quick for her to get off. The Cajun chuckled. The goth behind behind him yelled, "What's so funny, Creole!"  
  
"What Remy said by Grandmama's Grave."  
  
"I get it. I'm beautiful. Slow down so I don' end up lookin' like road kill!"  
  
"No, you don' get it, ma Petite. De catch is dat filles, dey never believe a Homme when he say she's gorgeous. Yo' sayin' you believe Remy, but he know you t'ink you ugly. Yo' stuck wit' Remy, Chere." The girl hung her head and clung harder to the Cajun. She thought back to the German devil that had attacked her and muttered, "Look on tha bright side. At least he's not a demon."  
  
His laugh was low, but shook her entire frame. Though she couldn't see, Remy's shades were slung low on his face. Twin flames glowed from his eyes, lighting the road better for him than any headlights.  
  
"You may not t'ink the same, come mornin', Cherie. Remy a demon in a lot a t'ings."  
  
The motorcycle shot down the road and she held on for dear life.  
  
"What the Hell did I get mahself into?"  
  
He didn't laugh, which set her on edge. Very quietly he replied, "The ride of yo' life, ma Petite. Remy ride so fast, you nevah get a chance to run."  
  
.  
  
Hours later, Remy felt his unwilling passenger's arms slacken. He swore.  
  
"Oh, now dat won' do a'tall! Remy's Petite be no road kill."  
  
He noticed a familiar sign on the side of the road and smiled.  
  
.  
  
Remy came out of the motel lobby twirling a set of keys. He smiled at his girl, wrapped in his trench coat against his bike. Remy didn't own much, but knew that when something belonged to him, it was "his."  
  
'De fille can't weigh much to be propped up by Remy's wheels.' He walked over quietly and took her in his arms.  
  
"She don' weigh not'ing. The first t'ing Gambit do is fill her up on good Cajun food. Well..." his eyes flashed, "maybe dat come second."  
  
.  
  
The clicking of the door's locks woke the girl. She tumbled out of the Cajun's arms and scrambled away. LeBeau just chuckled and pulled open a compartment hidden by the motel's laminated list of rules.  
  
She stared at the small cabinet and the number-key pad in it. "What tha Hell?"  
  
"Dis ain' a normal motel, Chere. De windows don' open, de walls -dey soundproof, de tub is too big, de phone don' work, an' you can' get out 'less you de Homme dat paid."  
  
"What sorta place is this?"  
  
Remy looked at her sadly. "A place a LeBeau man hopes his daughter never works."  
  
He punched in a code, and then shut the compartment door. "Don' matter dat you memorized dat, Petite. Dere's a different number to exit. Dat nowheres but Remy's head.  
  
The girl pulled off her gloves. "All I needed to hear, Cajun." She lunged for the man.  
  
.  
  
Remy caught her easily. He took her to the floor, trapped her legs and torso with his legs, and snatched her wrists in one hand behind her back. She was so small, her head barely came to his chest. "Now why you do a stupid t'ing like dat, ma Petite? Remy said he nevah let go an' Remy no liar. Shh, don' fight. Gambit not gonna force ya, not like dat.  
  
"Dat where Remy draws de line. He don' got much honor, but it's ten time a normal t'ief's where it counts."  
  
He picked her up and prodded her toward the bathroom. "Look, go to de bathroom, wash off de make-up, and take off some clothes. Remy won' come in for a good ten minutes."  
  
Defeated, the Goth walked towards the door.  
  
"And Chere?" She glanced back. Remy pulled off the shades and she gasped. As his eyes made her shake, he said very slowly, "Don' attack Gambit again, ma Petite. You don' want Remy to forget his honor, no?  
  
"No," she whispered back.  
  
"Good girl. Now run along. Times' a wastin' and Gambit isn't very patient."  
  
.  
  
With the door locked behind her, she sank to the tile floor and sobbed. Her whole life had gone to pieces in one night and was getting steadily worse. After a minute, she looked at her ruined make-up and scrubbed it off. She managed to go to the bathroom without crying. At school it was where she cried. There were disguising sounds, tissue paper available and closed doors. It wasn't school anymore.  
  
Glancing at the mirror one more time, the Goth pulled off the gauzy green top that had made her famous at school. Beating the dress code hardly seemed important anymore. Getting out of the room did.  
  
What she had to do all sounded so easy in her head. 'Let him touch you, punch tha code, use his memories ta ride his bike, and you're gone.' Actually doing it terrified her.  
  
She looked at the door. All her senses screamed to just stay in the bathroom, but she knew Remy would open the door. He had made it clear that the door could be unlocked from the outside and she knew she didn't weigh enough to prop it shut with her body.  
  
The girl didn't dare get the Cajun angry on the off chance whatever had killed Matt was taking a nap.  
  
.  
  
She walked out of the bathroom and stopped dead. Gambit was watching TV at the foot of the bed; he was watching Matt. Her classmate was taped being rolled towards an ambulance in full respiratory gear.  
  
A reporter woman spoke off screen. "...Matt collapsed at a friend's party around seven-thirty tonight." She walked to the bed, a little behind Remy. "Please turn it off LeBeau. I hate hearin' 'bout tragedies."  
  
The self-proclaimed thief reached for the remote.  
  
So does Remy, ma Petite. Prefers romances to tell de truth."  
  
He aimed the channel changer at the TV.  
  
"...Eyewitnesses claim that the boy fell unconscious just after a classmate kissed him but all are doubtful that this young man fainted."  
  
One of her school's jocks came on. "When I get mah that damned Goth...she killed him!"  
  
'Damned is right.' Desperately, she reached for the Cajun's neck.  
  
.  
  
Remy's hand shot out and grabbed the fille's. She gasped with pain, but that was the least of her worries. He threw her to the floor. Reaching under the bed's covers, he dragged out the sheet. Before she could react, Remy tightly cocooned her in it, leaving only the head free to move.  
  
"Remy no fool, Chere. He can put two," he pointed at her and then the TV, "and two together." He picked the fille up and held her to him on the bed. He whispered harshly, "Don' struggle if'n you don' want to see how much damage Remy can do wit' not touchin'."  
  
She only fought harder. The man sighed and turned her around to face the same way as him, keeping her body locked to his. He grabbed a pillow with his free hand.  
  
"See dat pillow? Dat's you." The cushion began to glow and he tossed it into the air. There was an explosion and feathers scattered everywhere. His Petite held stock still, but Gambit continued anyway.  
  
"LeBeau don' t'ink your insides quite so lovely as de casin', Chere." The sheet began to glow with the same wicked energy.  
  
"Yo' Homme survived, Chere. He's just in a tiny coma, expected to wake up by mornin'. You can touch Remy, fight to yo' heart's content. Gambit'll wake up tomorrow mornin' an' find you in his arms or he'll wake up in de evening an' you'll be nothin' but red paint on de walls. Yo' choice, ma Petite. Goodnight..."  
  
A thought occurred to him.  
  
"Well, Gambit be forgettin' his manners. He nevah even asked for his girl's name." He laughed and his captive shivered.  
  
She did not want the Bastard to go around spouting the same name her friends and Aunt Irene used.  
  
"Remy be waitin', Chere."  
  
"Just call me Rogue, Swamp Rat."  
  
He kissed her shoulder. "Dat'll do Rgoue. Dat'll do just fine."  
  
Remy turned the newly christened Rogue back around and she sobbed into his chest. He briefly considered forbidding her to cry, but thought against it.  
  
'Let de fille cry. Her whole life, even her name is gone. At least ma Petite is safe an' has a Homme to cry on. Are you restin' in peace, Grandmama, now dat your final prophecy be fulfilled?'  
  
His mind went back to the matriarch's last words. 'Remy, when tha belle runs to my grave ta hide, take her away, drag her if yah have to. She's like us, like myself. Nevah let her go. She belongs ta you. But don't you ferget you belong ta her, Remy LeBeau!'  
  
Gambit blinked. 'I had forgotten, Grandmama.'  
  
"Have her, hold her, be her Guardian Devil. You're all tha Belle has, Remy. Yer task is to make tha thief that steals spirit believe it!"  
  
He sighed and murmured in the sleeping girl's ear. "Welcome to the family, Rogue, t'ief of spirits...and my Heart."  
  
***  
  
Aaw...Okay, a violent meeting, but it ended sweet. Things should calm down rating wise. Hey, it's N'Awlins, what could happen...cool.  
  
***  
  
Review Responses (no one's reviewed this fic yet -obviously- but I'm being proactive)  
  
***  
  
Alliryan:  
  
You'll probably be reading this within a half-hour of it being posted, so thanks for the support in advance (and the goddess treatment). To answer your question, "Kaylessa" is a reviewer -like yourself- who asked if Anita was an OC or not. The answer is..."duh!" Apparently I developed her too well to be obvious about it. (yay!) If you want to know who someone is in the future, click on the reviews button next to my fic's link. 


	2. Marriage an' All Dat

Okay, PG-13 for a REASON. Remy's turning out the way he is and I won't change him for anything. I'm serious here. If you have problems with a talk on infanticide, check out please.  
  
I've gotten some reviews that this fic is hard to follow, but people seem to love it anyway. It's not a very logical story because Remy has a wild character with severe mood swings and his actions and words (and in effect, my writing) reflects that. I'm toning down the accents and checking that people know who is talking. Bon appetite! ***  
  
Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice  
  
***  
  
Chapter Two: Marriage an' All Dat  
  
***  
  
Rogue woke up in an otherwise empty bed. Remy had tucked her underneath the covers.  
  
He had also duct taped the sheet around her body.  
  
Her tears came again and the remaining pillow grew damp. She was glad she could cry alone. After forever, the sun came up, but was mostly kept out by the heavy window curtains. She heard the door open and close.  
  
"Chere?" She mimicked sleep and ignored him.  
  
"Don' lie to Gambit, ma Petite. He can see de wet. Remy's fille may be a lot of things in bed, but she ain't a bed wetter. Why you cry, Belle? 'Taint so bad, Remy be wit' you after all. Most filles, dey give their spleen for dat. Ma Petite gets Remy free."  
  
"Leave me alone, Swamp Rat."  
  
He slipped into the bed and stroked her hair with his damned leather gloves. "Remy wouldn't call his Homme dat if'n he were you, ma Petite." He paused, then added, "If'n he was a fille, dat is."  
  
She laughed, but it came out more like a sob. The girl jerked her head towards the rings of duct tape. "My "Man"...so what're these, marriage ties?" His eyes were only inches from hers. Rogue considered head butting him. He would wake up all too soon and she'd still be unable to move an inch, but he would have a splitting headache.  
  
"Marriage ties?" The Cajun grinned, and then grew solemn. "No, no, ma Petite. Dat would be dis."  
  
He pulled a short chain from one of his many pockets. Rogue couldn't help but gasp. The silver and diamonds glinted even in the dim light. A tiny keyhole lock was bound to the delicate metal links. From the lock there hung two diamond wedding rings: one small and one large. Then, suddenly as it had appeared, it was snugly closed around her neck.  
  
"Perfect fit, ma Petite. Just one more way you like Grandmama Lilly. Dis fit her too, her 'ole life. Grandmama, she die wit' it on. So will you, Chere."  
  
He laughed at her shudder. "T'ink of it as a promise, as security. Marriage goes both ways an' Remy has to upkeep his side."  
  
"You're not collared, LeBeau and this ain' marriage!"  
  
"No, Remy ain't. De LeBeau men ain' collared. Dey promise in de blood; it's bound in de blood."  
  
The thief pulled off his shirt and his fille's eyes went wide. On his chest, over his heart, there was a burn scar, like from a cattle prod. The shiny scar tissue made a sharp contrast to his heavily tanned flesh. It was a lock with a heart and two wedding rings "engraved" into it.  
  
"Remy's Papa do dis to him, an' Remy'll do it to his sons. Like Gambit said, he don' got much honor, but he's deadly strict where it counts." He pointed at his scar, then the necklace. "Dat's what counts, Rogue."  
  
He put his hand on her heart. "Dat too."  
  
"De fille's heart matters. Not a fille, mind you, the fille. There's only one of those in de world and de LeBeau man must find her. For Remy, dat's you, ma Petite. You picked de lock on Remy's heart, stole it clean gone. Is only fair Remy steal you. So now we married accordin' to de LeBeaus. Now we here.  
  
Her emerald eyes flashed with some anger that was too complex to describe. "How did we get here? Last night I remember you threatenin' ta blow me up!"  
  
"Dat just Remy's way, Chere. Think nothin' of it afterward, but do what Remy says when he in his dark humor."  
  
Gambit drew out a knife and cut open the sheet. He got up and leaned against the wall warily. Her arms free, Rogue reached for the chain.  
  
"Remy wouldn' do dat if'n he was you, Chere. Fille or no."  
  
She dug her fingers around it and tugged. There was yelp of pain and she clutched her twitching hand.  
  
"Dat chain not harmless. People would kill for dat; filles have been killed. LeBeau men lose enough filles in de past, and dey make sure it don' happen no more. Now it spits electricity at its attackers and only opens wit' de key that fits in the lock. Don' worry, Chere, it won' shock you unless you de one that tries to take it off."  
  
She rubbed her wounded hand and glared at him. "What's so important about this hunk of metal?"  
  
"Security."  
  
She growled in frustration. "You said that. Why is it so special you hafta booby trap it?"  
  
"De fille dat wears it is safe. Dat be a desirable thing in Remy's world. No thief wit' connections in N'Awlins will hurt her. Any thief seein' her in trouble will help her. She untouchable as long as she stays in N'Awlins or wit' her Homme. Hopefully she stay wit' both, but dat too much ask of some LeBeau men's filles."  
  
"Like me."  
  
"On de head, ma Petite. At least you admittin' you belong to Remy now."  
  
She sputtered. "What?"  
  
Remy began to absently twirl his dagger. "Dere's lots of old rules but let Gamit give it to you straight. Say you run away from Remy, leave de protection of N'Awlins and go to Minnesota. One day you t'ink you safe, go shoppin' at de grocery. You reach fo' a nice shiny apple, den Bam! De boy that mop the floors pull you in de back, lock you in an orange crate wit' steel bars, and ship you back to yo' Homme in N'Awlins."  
  
He looked at her face and answered the question written all over it. "Why? Because you belong to Remy. You may not like it, Chere, but at least you're safe."  
  
"I was a lot safer before you came along!"  
  
He laughed at her outburst. "Don' lie to Remy, ma Petite. Remy had some checkin' done on what happened in de cemetery of Remy's Grandmama last night. Dere were some people there dat even Remy wouldn' want to get on the wrong end of. Two assassins we thought had died long ago. Meanin' in de eighteen hundreds."  
  
"What!"  
  
"Don' be so surprised, ma Petite. Plenty of strange things in dis world. Most all of them pass through N'Awlins at some point. If you look hard there, you'll see things, people, people dat seem like things. You never know, ma Petite. Our children may not look like people."  
  
Rogue laughed darkly. "I don' know if I'll have kids, Remy, but if I do, they won' be yours."  
  
Remy was suddenly on top of her, trapping he beneath the covers.  
  
"De children, they be dis Homme's and his fille's or they worth no more than bilge water! Dat where they end up too, the sewer."  
  
Rogue gasped and the Creole glared. "If'n you have a baby dat ain' Remy's, he have de right. If'n Remy trespasses on his promise, you can do de same to his child. 'Tis sin, those babies. Don' be so surprised. De Puritan filles, they bashed their sinful babies dead themselves, wit' rocks. They'd bash they own stomachs an' kill de childs unborn or they papas an' Hommes would for them. Remy may sound Creole, walk an' talk it, but he know his blood Puritan. He got Cajun soul, but Pilgrim blood."  
  
The thief realized that she was terrified and stroked her hair softly. "But Gambit ain' his ancestors. He'd nevah hurt you, ma Petite. Wouldn't even hand you de rock. But he would do de needle himself. On de baby an' de Bastard both."  
  
"That's why I hate you, LeBeau! Every time I start to think I could like yah, you go and say somethin' 'bout infanticide."  
  
"Remy can't change himself, ma Petite."  
  
"Then don't try an' change me! I'm not your Petite."  
  
"You wrong dere, Cherie. You made to be Remy's fille, just as Remy born to be yo' Homme. No one said de rules were kind. Just follow dem and you be happy."  
  
He lifted her out of the bed. "There are some clothes for you in de bathroom. And a bath."  
  
Rogue walked into the bathroom. She gasped and stopped short. Remy went ahead of her and placed his hand into the glowing water. "Remy just keepin' it warm for you, ma Petite." The energy sucked back into his hand, leaving only steaming water. He pointed to a watch on the counter. "We leave for N'Awlins in one hour, if you clothed or not. Knock on de door if you finish before den."  
  
The Cajun left and she heard the door latch. Rogue sank into the bath water and held her head in her hands. Her body heated, but the metal chain stayed cold against her skin. "Married accordin' to the Lebeaus, Damn him. Damn tha LeBeaus, whoever they are."  
  
***  
  
Well, I hope this was less confusing, but I somehow doubt that. Marriage...yeah. It's the basic theme of the fic. I've always considered Remy to be a powerful MAN and thought it weird for him to chase Rogue around forever and beg just to get her to talk to him. So I skipped a couple steps, specifically love (on Rogue's side). ***  
  
Review Responses  
  
***  
  
Rogue454:  
  
You wanted a clarification on when this story happened. Remember that first Rogue episode where she got kissed by a classmate at a party down in Mississippi and absorbed his memories? She thinks she killed "Matt" and is on the run. The X-Men (and Mystique) go down to recruit her. In the story, Mystique confuses the Goth and gets her to join her team. In this one, Rogue gets shocked by Kurt, absorbs him, and teleports into that crypt. There she finds...REMY, who gets her out of there before anyone else finds her.  
  
Surrealique:  
  
I actually have an idea or two about sticking other Evo characters into the plot. They will probably end up as cameos, but they're good ideas with quite a bit of humor and drama.  
  
Destiny Phoenix and cool-chick-rae:  
  
Like I said up at the top, I'm really trying to work on it. I love Remy's accent and refuse to drop it. I hear my characters' dialogue in my head and write what I hear, but I do believe I've made it more understandable. I did go back to Ch1 and rewrite some of it. The plot hasn't changed one bit, but it should be easier for future readers.  
  
ishandahalf, Queen of the Night, Caliente, Yumiko, and LotusPen:  
  
As you probably figured out, I updated. Thanks for the support. 


	3. It ain’ All Mardi Gras

Woah...reviews. Thanks guys. The general weirded out feeling remains; I'm apparently breaking new territory with our favorite couple. Rogue seems to be coming out weak to me at this point, but Remy can do that when alone with a person. We'll see how things turn out, meaning you and me both. I'm writing this on subconscious mode because that's what's working the fastest. I'll be editing my chapters and wonder where the hell some of the stuff came fro...OK LeBEAU! GET OUT FROM BEHIND THE COUCH AND APOLOGIZE FOR PUTTING STUFF IN MY WRITING!  
  
Sigh...I wish.  
  
Oh, I've gotten my hands on a street map of New Orleans. I live nowhere near Louisiana, so don't trust me to be accurate about what's in-between the streets. I'm just filling in the little boxes with what I want to be there. If you live in New Orleans and a thief headquarters pops up on your street corner, don't go sniffing around basements.  
  
Oh no...I forgot the DISCLAIMER. I don't own Remy/Rogue or ANY facet of X- Men Evolution; Marvel owns them.  
  
I lay claim to Remy's unstable attitude in this fic, but I'll share as long as it is done well by future writers. Nearly every other character that shows up in this fic is mine. I obviously don't own N'Awlins, but the locations are my creations. The necklace/scar is pure imagination and I will hunt down the person foolish enough to copy my idea.  
  
Jeez, could the intro get any longer...sorry. On with the story. It is still PG-13.  
  
***  
  
Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice  
  
***  
  
Chapter 3: It ain' All Mardi Gras  
  
***  
  
Remy checked his watch. It had been forty minutes. 'Good enough for Gambit." He went to the bathroom and opened the door. His fille sat on the counter, absently drawing on the steamed up mirror. His lips turned into a small pout. "Remy hope his Cherie still not dressed."  
  
She used her gloved thumb to press spots onto her misty leopard. Growling in a way Remy thought better suited the cat, she replied, "Remy's Cherie not dat stupid. You ten minutes late; Rogue t'ink you barge here in afta half an hour." Her hateful mimicry of the Cajun's speech had the desired effect. His ready smile dropped and the hardened face of a callous man revealed itself. Rogue studied those features, imprinting them in her memory. It was LeBeau's true face, not the colorful façade that he tried to fool her with. The mask returned and he laughed. It didn't even sound forced; his masquerade was that perfect. It made it all the more important to remember the real Remy.  
  
"Ah appreciate tha effort, Rogue, but Ah prefer ta hear your natural speech." His imitation was flawless, even the accent, and Rogue ground her teeth without thinking. He beamed at her, and then began to doodle on the mirror as well.  
  
"Tell you what, Belle. Remy not be you and you don't be Remy. We be ourselves an' don't pretend otherwise."  
  
She snorted and dipped her hand under the running faucet. "Then be yourself already, Swamp Rat. You and I both know you ain't the fun lovin' player you pretend ta be. Take off tha damned mask." The girl threw and water splashed the Creole's stylized jewel drawing out of existence. He looked at her critically. "Remy not de one that wears more face paint than a clown. What you tryin' to hide behind all dat?" His eyes flicked to her heavy eye shadow, which the Goth had applied from a tube she apparently had hidden on her person. Where, he had no idea. 'Perhaps her boots.'  
  
The green accented her angry eyes. "I show what I am. You hide behind laughs and smiles."  
  
"Remy don't hide himself, I hide what de world made me!" She started at his sudden switch to first person. His face was furious, but softer than the cruel angled face she knew. It looked sad and terrified beneath the rage. He covered it with his hands, pressed, and let go. Remy stood tall and faced her. The man was gone and the monster had returned.  
  
He grabbed her wrist and smeared away her leopard with it. The eye shadow got thrown into the trash can and he attacked her eyes with a wet towel until the green was only a memory. He dragged Rogue out the door and to the set of drawers. He pulled one open and took out that infamous roll of duct tape. Pulling back the sleeves of her sweater, Remy roughly taped the ends of her gloves to her bare skin.  
  
LeBeau held her close. He clutched her neck and chin in one hand, forcing her face towards his. Every time the girl averted her eyes, he squeezed and the pain made her look back. After a time, he snarled in a voice that was almost reptilian.  
  
"You want de Swamp Rat to throw away his mask, den he will." He tore off the shades.  
  
"This is de face of Gambit LeBeau, Prince of T'ieves. Look well, for it is the true face of N'Awlins. It ain't all Mardi Gras. There be crooked alleys and dark secrets. It put on some bright face for de beautiful, but it be dark an' twisted underneath. You beautiful, ma Petit. Gambit put on a bright face for you, but no more."  
  
.  
  
Once again Remy pulled Rogue behind him on his motorcycle. He screeched away from the motel and let his speed lock her to him. She picked the lesser of two evils and dug her head into his coat to save it from the whiplash of the wind.  
  
"You cry on Gambit and he make you regret it." She clenched her jaw and held on tighter. If only she could squeeze the air out of his lungs. The Cajun's breath was deep and smooth. Its rhythm moved her back and forth with it. Rogue shook her head lightly to keep sleep away.  
  
.  
  
Remy was breathing hard with fury. That fille made him so angry. No one had ever been able to make him lose his temper in years, but Rogue did it like clockwork.  
  
'Damn you, Grandmama. You're in heaven, but damn you anyway. I can't...Gambit can't fall apart like dis. De fille unlocked his heart and he can't bottle it up again. Do you want your only grandson to get himself killed befo' his time! LeBeau can't do this, de fille-'  
  
The fille had fallen asleep again.  
  
.  
  
Rogue woke when she slammed into the ground. She let out a cry of pain and glared at the Cajun who had thrown her down. He swore at her. She didn't understand a word, but she knew the swearing tone. Remy spoke rapid French curses. That, or his god-awful accent had become so strong, the English cussing was unrecognizable. He finally calmed down enough to speak understandable English.  
  
"Fool! You want to die?" His eyes blazed with their dark fires and Rogue shrank back. "Nevah fall asleep on de road. It is insanity, suicide! Gambit's bike ain't yo' mama's car where you strapped in like a baby!" He grabbed her, and pulled her face to his. "Nevah, ma Petit."  
  
Remy searched his fille's eyes and found more than he bargained for. He found his reflection, a demon glaring back at him in an endless pool of green. The Creole stumbled back, astonished at the sight. 'Is that what I've become? Is that what my wife sees? What in God's name have I done to myself?' Her eyes and the image in them haunted him. Remy hadn't married a girl; he'd married a mirror. It threw back the worst parts of him, cracking the glass in the process.  
  
'What have I done to her...why does Gambit care? She just a fille.' He shook his head and threw away his father's cold voice. How long had he let Knave LeBeau speak through him?  
  
He retreated to the trunk of a nearby tree. He hung his head. "What the Hell have I gotten myself into?" After a time, a body leaned against the same trunk and looked to the road.  
  
"When I asked that, Gambit, yah had an answer. I don't have one." She laughed, and then continued.  
  
"I hate this, Remy, LeBeau, Gambit, tha Prince of Thieves...whoevah tha Hell you are. My husband, I guess. I understand "that," even if I hate it. I don't understand, don't know who yah are, mah beau. Neither do you.  
  
"Yah said yah won't let me go. I believe that even though I hate it. So now we're here, married an' fallin' ta pieces. We both have our ways to piece ourselves back togethah. I make up mah face like a porcelain doll from Hell and you wear so many masks you don' know where they stop and mah beau begins. I don't know why and I'm afraid ta know. Fate's thrown us quite a turn."  
  
"Mighty strange cards. Remy's...I'm a mighty fine card player, but I don't know what do wit' dem."  
  
Rogue looked at him. "I've got the King and Knave of Hearts. And tha ten. What do you have?"  
  
He smiled a small and shy one-sided grin. He hadn't smiled like that since his grandmama died. "I've got de Queen of Hearts. An' de Ace up my sleeve."  
  
"Is that tha Royal Flush?"  
  
"Yes it is, Belle."  
  
"Then we play the damned cards together." She looked hopeful. "Unless you're gonna let me go."  
  
"I said I never let you go, ma Petite."  
  
"That's what I thought."  
  
***  
  
I think I managed to resolve that crazy Remy issue rather well, even though I had to drop his 3rd person dialogue. It's going to make reappearances, but not while alone with Rogue, thank god. I love Gambit, but I can only write like that so long. What do you think, is it still confusing?  
  
***  
  
Review Responses  
  
***  
  
Okay, there are getting to be a lot of reviews for this fic, esp. for only two chapters, so I have to change my strategy for this part.  
  
The general consensus from the reviewers is that this is the first fic of its kind, that I've created a new and harsher Remy (but people are getting into it), and that readers are on the edge of their seats waiting for more.  
  
I know because of my statistics page that a little over 600 people have tuned in, but only about 300 have checked out the second chapter (I fell out of my chair when I saw those numbers). I'm not optimistic enough to think that all of them just haven't gotten around to it yet, but I don't know what people who didn't like it think. I may not listen, but I would like some helpful criticism for my writing in general.  
  
Shiver:  
  
You said that I included actual Cajun culture into this fic. I don't know if that's true. I don't know anything about it except a general idea of the accent, speech patterns, and that it isn't about players that turn sweet in the end. The rest is imagination and rumor. I was going for a sense of tradition behind Remy's actions and nature, but I didn't realize it was so obvious. And thank you for the compliment. A devoted reader is a writer's best praise.  
  
mAd RoGuE:  
  
Prophecy. Yeah, that was a little unclear. I'm playing this idea that Remy gets his mutant gene from his Grandmama, who saw the future (like Irene). She's vague because seers never can give too much information as they might destroy the future they want to create. That's confusing, but think about it for a while. You'll get a headache, but feel smarter in the morning. As to the prophecy itself, I'll have Remy ruminate on it in later chapters or something. 


	4. Cajun Road Kill

I'm back!  
  
***  
  
Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice  
  
***  
  
Chapter 4: Cajun Road Kill  
  
***  
  
The couple sat and stared at the empty road, leaning against the old tree trunk on the wayside. Rogue was the first to break the silence. She turned her head and said, "Remy, do me a favor."  
  
The Cajun looked into her eyes. "What, Chere?"  
  
"When we get back on that piece of trash," she jerked her thumb at Remy's bike, "Let me take mah own sweet time gettin' on. You take off like the devil again an' I'll fall off on purpose."  
  
"Gambit's bike ain't trash!" His voice gained that hard edge and she jumped.  
  
She looked at LeBeau in dismay. 'Not again!'  
  
Rogue knew how to read which Creole she was dealing with now. The real one used "I." When he called himself Remy, he was the joking player. Gambit was the danger signal. Her poor duct taped wrists were proof of that.  
  
Rogue grew angry and refused to back down in front of the act. "Don't you dare make me go through that again, Remy LeBeau!" The man blinked and the mask fell off with a thud.  
  
"Chere, you could pass for Grandmama back from de dead." There was something childish and reminiscent about that phrase.  
  
She glared. "And that means what? I'm sick of you and your masks. I thought I had made that clear."  
  
"Grandmama wouldn' put up wit' dem either. Refused to let me hide."  
  
"Good for her." Rogue fingered the strange chain around her neck that had belonged to that woman. She doubted it was silver -too strong- but it didn't feel like steel or iron.  
  
"Yes, good fo' her. An' ma Petite, I ride my bike how I like."  
  
Rogue stood up and walked to the motorcycle. She straddled it and quipped, "Then I'll just have ta drive."  
  
"You?"  
  
Her eyebrow twitched. "If you had kidnapped me in mah jeans instead of in leather pants, I could show you mah license." It was a lie. She kept her wallet in her jacket pocket. Her coat was either still at the house of the party where she'd put Matt in a coma or in a police investigation lab. Or one of the jocks had burned it out of spite. Rogue hoped it was choice number one or three.  
  
"License...so you are over 16 den."  
  
Her jaw dropped into a shape that brought shocked fury to mind. "You married me and didn' know how old I was? I could have been only fourteen!"  
  
Two flames glowed from the shade under the tree. They weren't menacing like normal, but inviting, if that were possible. "De laws say you sixteen, Chere. A child. What do you think of dat?"  
  
He laughed at her death scowl. "I thought so. People age many ways, in many t'ings. In time, body, mind, heart, an' soul. You too old in dose last three, ma Petite. Don' be. Wimmen can afford to be filles. Dey should be filles."  
  
Rogue looked at the twin mournful fires. "An' what about men. What about LeBeau men, can they be boys?"  
  
The infernal light disappeared as Remy laughed. "Don't know what a boy is, belle. Seen dem in de street and known dem, but never been one. My Remy is de closest I've gotten."  
  
The Cajun took his time getting to his feet. He sauntered over to the rode and stood on the side of his motorcycle. "Chere, get off my bike. Otherwise, you're not goin' to like it when I lift you off it.  
  
"Try it, Remy, an'..." Rogue was suddenly an undignified lump in Remy's arms. After a shocked moment, she struggled her way out of his grip and fell to the ground. LeBeau laughed as she got up. Then there was a crunching sound and he was sprawled over the pavement. He touched his damaged cheek bone gingerly and grunted, "Dat was some right hook, ma Petite."  
  
She debated kicking him, but decided to stop while she was ahead. "Like I was sayin', try it an' you're road kill. Take these off, now." The girl pulled up the sleeves of her light violet sweater and held out her arms. Remy sighed and picked himself off the road. He removed a glove and peeled away the tape from one wrist. She yelped and pulled her hand away. Remy was prepared for her right hook that time. Unfortunately, it wasn't a right hook. Remy stumbled sharply and fought to stay on his feet. He looked at his tiny wife in disbelief. "You have a left hook too?"  
  
She smiled grimly as she removed her cumbersome glove and carefully peeled away the duct tape on the other wrist. "Secret weapon. I get 'em once because I'm small, twice because they dodge a blow from tha wrong arm."  
  
Rogue stared levelly at the bruised Creole. She had gotten her two cents in. A smirk lit her face. 'Two dents in, more like. The question is, what the Hell happens next?' She looked into his red eyes, waiting for the Gambit to return. It never did.  
  
"Ma Petite?"  
  
Rogue cocked her head. "Yes, mah beau?"  
  
"Don' hesitate to use dat trick in N'Awlins. It will save you from a world o' hurt." Remy straddled the bike and waited for Rogue to settle in behind him. After five minutes, she relented and they rode off. Rogue, able to see her surroundings for once, thoughtfully watched the horizon. What was a world of hurt?  
  
***  
  
.  
  
Hitomi Lei:  
  
Hmm...you say you live in Louisiana. Homework assignment. Give me a short review with some general stuff about what you know about New Orleans. You don't have to, but I would rather not butcher this.  
  
.  
  
Squirrels4life:  
  
Thank you. Yes, Stoic is not getting many reviews, but it's a Scott fic, what can I say. Back to ToS: I enjoy being as different as possible. I figure that the fanfiction world can always use new ideas and to make a ripple, someone has to upset the pond. I'm worried about backlash, but I'll deal with it when it happens.  
  
.  
  
Heartsyhawk:  
  
I understand why you feel uncomfortable about this fic. When I started writing this, Remy's cruelty just happened and I don't know how. I deleted the first chapter when I looked back at it, and started rewriting, but it didn't work. I've been writing for a while (off the web) and I've learned that when my subconscious directs my writing to just let it happen. I reopened the chapter as it was before and never looked back. Some stories are meant to be dark, and very few are fairy tales with charming princes.  
  
It sort of shocked me to think about your age comment. Well, as you can see, I've brought the issue to light. About Rogue being 14, it never crossed my mind. I've thought about it since you brought it up and here is my logic. Rogue is younger than Jean and older than Kitty by a grade each. Kitty was a freshman in the first season and Jean was a junior, so Rogue was a sophomore. I don't know any 14 year old sophomores that didn't skip a grade. I thought of her as a 16 year-old sophomore in the first season. Her junior year was when the mutant secret came out and Apocalypse happened the summer before she was an 18 year old senior. So what do you say? Is married at sixteen less scandalous?  
  
.  
  
Jo-jo:  
  
I agree with you on EVERY point. I read fanfiction long before I had the courage to write it and it disappointed me when my reviews never showed up. Why do people do that?  
  
.  
  
Cool-chick-rae:  
  
Yeah, I am a little sketchy at describing the settings. Don't worry. So far, I've improved my "accents" and "who said what" categories...I hope. The point is I'll just work on this next.  
  
And of course the story is a little scary, that's what I'm going for: shock value.  
  
.  
  
Twilight Lament:  
  
Thank you for supporting the scary Remy. If that's not what you meant, I don't mean to put words in your mouth...text...whatever. And I agree with you that most Romy fics deal more with the fact that they're "on opposite sides" than the relationship itself.  
  
You are right that Rogue comes out too weak in the first chapters. I've been focusing on the fact that Gambit is in his early twenties or so and Rogue is an insecure teenager. Rogue has some growing up to do, and it undoubtedly will happen fast in Remy's crowd. Another reason why she buckles under LeBeau (another excuse, I know) is that I'm having trouble learning how to get two people to be defiant at the same time. I've got an idea or two on how to change that, as you probably noticed. Did I fix it? .  
  
Thank You all for Reviewing. You have no idea how much pleasure I take in looking at your responses. 


	5. Hell of an Entrance, Ma Petite

Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice

***

Chapter 5:  Hell of an Entrance, Ma Petite

***

Rogue stared quietly around her husband's back to take in the soft lights of New Orleans.  Out of the windows of homes and small shops leaked a gentle glow that mixed with tiny sparks of lamp light.  It was all packed so close together, the glitter almost seemed one solid light.  As the city crept towards the horizon, the buildings grew tall and modern.  The occasional worker staying late had a light on in the massive scrapers, but most of the endless panes of glass looked into dark, empty offices.  Instead, the wash of illumination from the smaller buildings reflected off the skyscrapers back onto the streets.  

She could barely make out bits of river from behind the colossal structures.  The water flowed slowly; starlight brightening its surface.  She searched for gaps in the giant offices to see the loveliness.  If Rogue looked to either side of the parked motorcycle, however, it seemed there was only water.  Country had given way to swamp as Remy took her south.  The bayous imprisoned the city within themselves.  New Orleans was a light in the heart of darkness.  She supposed there was a beauty to the scenery but all she saw was murky bog caging her in.  Still, the water reflected the city's glow somewhat and seemed less forbidding.

'It's all right now, but how will it look under tha sun?  How fine will this new home seem come daybreak?'  With a slight shake, she drove the thoughts from her head.  Things were never what they seemed and were never the same thing twice.  She could only admire the beauty, bear with the hideous, and keep an eye out for trouble.  She stifled a yawn and closed her eyes briefly.  

"You still awake, Cherie?"  Rogue snapped her eyes open and she rolled them at the question.  Since when was she automatically asleep if she didn't maintain a death grip on the driver?

"Of course I'm awake.  An' what's your care?  For God's sake, Remy, we aren't even movin'!"  They were suddenly moving at fifty miles an hour and she clung to him.  Rogue waited for his belly to soften with an exhalation and jammed her thumb into his upper gut.  It couldn't hurt too much, but it was something.

Remy winced at the small pain in his chest as the muscles complained of the sharp pressure.  "Why you do a thing like dat, ma Petite?"

"Why did you race off like that again?  I told yah to give me fair warnin'!"

He startled in surprise.  "Remy thought he did.  Said to tighten yo' grip an' everyt'ing, just like a right gentleman."  

There was an indignant snort from behind him, "You only asked if I was awake.  How you can pull "tighten yo' grip" out of that I have no clue"

Remy wondered just how many of his words she had missed when she apparently dozed off for a minute.  'Most likely all but the last sentence.'  He shook his head.  "Well Chere," he continued out loud, "since you missed dat part, Remy 'pologize, but you need to hear what he said before dat.  Remy been nice an' normal for you today, but he can't be like dat all de time in N'Awlins.  He gotta talk like dis an' act like dis and he canna' drop de mask almos' a'tall."  His accent thickened to the point of ridiculousness as Remy grew reacquainted with his mask.  "Jus' somet'in' Remy forced te do.  Don' take et person'l, ma..."

Rogue's fist jumped up and punched his jaw shut.  She kept it there, digging the knuckles into his voice box.  "Don' even think about talkin' ta me with that poor excuse for English.  You gotta speak in third person, fine.  Just make it understandable.  You can even practice your comprehensible English when you explain why tha Hell you hafta speak in gibberish in tha first place."  She released his throat and went back to holding on for dear life with both hands.

"Sorry, Chere.  Dat is a long story and Remy don't have time to tell."  They entered the city limits.  "He do have a feeling you'll find out soon enough though."        

New Orleans was not the place it had seemed from afar.  It was like the bayous.  There was beauty in there somewhere, but the narrow dark alleys off the bright main streets made her too edgy to see it properly.  It was too quiet.  She repeated the thought aloud to fill the eerie silence.  Remy's quiet voice came back to her.  It seemed to echo off everything and came to her ears with a haunted quality.

"It's quiet 'cause no one wants to be on de streets.  De only places wit' noise are de bars and de hospitals.  Sensible people are at home.  De stupid ones are in de bars an' clubs.  Even some of dose are smart enough to be goin' home soon, but not many.  You can't tell now, but in a few hours all dose idiots will spill onto de streets and de problems will begin.  A few of dem won' make it home a'tall.  An' don't call Remy cruel again; it's just de sad truth."  He turned off into one of the alleys.  Rogue saw why he drove a bike instead of a car.  It would never fit through any of the crazy routes he took.

She growled, "Mah beau, I don't care if yah drive through this death trap, just slow down!  Mah stomach won' take much more of this."  A set of large iron doors set into the left alley wall opened and Remy veered into the opening.  He coasted to a stop in an enormous garage.

"Dis slow enough, ma Petite?" he murmured as he killed the engine.  "Just do yo'self a favor an' follow Remy's act.  Don' talk for a while."  He managed to get the bike and offer his hand to her as if they were a knight and his lady dismounting his horse after their long journey to his castle.  Something about the way Remy had said to play along made her actually follow the advice.  She looked around curiously as the Cajun greeted what she assumed were old friends.  Every sort of vehicle she could have imagined to exist –and some that she didn't- were neatly ordered in a sort of parking lot to the left of the open area where they stood.  The heavy doors to the street, now closed, lay on her right and an open door in front of her led away to some carpeted area.  

Turning her attention back to the lively conversation, Rogue noticed something strange.  The two men working in the garage had the utmost respect for her husband, but said nothing to her.  They didn't even acknowledge her existence until Remy introduced her as his wife.  When he did, she was nearly overpowered by reverence.  From that moment on, Remy's Petite -Rogue LeBeau- was born.

She accepted their courteous greetings with a gentle smile.  The taller, dark haired attendant kissed her gloved hand.  Some stray locks of hair brushed the bare skin of her wrist and she quickly waved him off with a shy gesture.  When she saw he was unharmed, she realized that he had murmured "my lady."  It felt wrong.  She didn't like the royalty feeling the smaller man's slight bow gave her either and shook her head slightly with a small, kind laugh.  She would refuse to act imperially no matter what strange circumstances came up.  Assuming she would see more of the two, she wanted them to treat her as a friend. 

As Rogue and Remy walked away, she heard the smaller man say in an awed voice, "...just like Lilly LeBeau said...is she is ze one?"  She looked back at the two.  The short Frenchman looked like he had seen a saint and the one who kissed her hand wobbled slightly.  Rogue sent a questioning look at the Cajun and he made a quiet shushing noise.  She quirked an eyebrow but obeyed.  They walked into a plush setting and descended down into a labyrinth of hallways and doors.  After a few minutes, she realized just how far the underground level must extend.  

Remy noticed and smiled.  "N'Awlin's been built on top of itself over de years, like Paris an' de old cities of Europe.  Dese catacombs just been bettah preserved.  A little cement an'..."  

Rogue stopped suddenly at an intersection in the hallway.  Her ears pricked up, literally.  Some instinct tensed the muscles around her ears, raising them up on the head about a centimeter and the turning the lobes into a slightly more curved shape.  Remy blinked.  Were those ears slightly pointed?  Her head whipped towards the connecting corridor and she bared her teeth in a feral way.  Rogue loped in that direction.  Remy blinked rapidly before sprinting after her receding form.  'Where de Hell did she get wolf blood?' he silently demanded to any listening spirits or demons.  She still gained distance on the Cajun.  He dropped into an all-out dash.  As he shortened the gap between them, he saw that his wife ran low to ground.  Her body was nearly a straight line head to toe, but her head was less than three feet off the floor.  Logic said she should fall and smash her face on the wooden floor, but she maintained that severe angle with ease.  Rogue ran on her toes, taking each step as a leap.  She pushed off, sailed horizontally through the air a few feet, and then pushed off with the next foot, delaying her collision with the ground for another step.  She took several of those strides in a second.  Her arms moved in a runner's form, balancing her twisting body somewhat.  Remy could easily imagine her placing them on the ground to run like a wolf.  

'Wolf...Leo had a papa dat was a purebred lycanthrope, didn' he?  He did seem a little weak in de knees after he kissed her.  Leo's hair, dat unruly mop, must have touched her.  But dat don' explain de ears, Remy sure dey were pointed.  Grandmama called Rogue de T'ief of Spirits, but does ma Petite take more den memories and energy?  Does she take de blood, what gives Remy demon eyes and makes Leo a wolf on de full moon?'

Remy heard a soft sound and slowed.  His Petite had stopped entirely.  He looked a few feet up the hall and saw Kenneth, his father's personal muscle, nearly break the arm of a young boy.

A soft growl escaped from Rogue's lips.  The brute didn't hear.  She didn't know how she could speak to the monster, but somehow she managed.  "What are you doing?"  Her voice refused to take on the tone of a threat or of superiority.  The enormous man paused for a moment and his piercing gaze immediately settled on her neck.  He seemed disappointed to find Remy's chain there.  To cover that, he snarled, "Go back to yo' Homme, child."  She stung at the remark but didn't show it.  Fear rolled off the small chocolate skinned boy only to be sucked up by his captor.  Rogue didn't know why she could see the movement of emotion, but whatever the cause, it felt natural as breathing.  

She inhaled and the air brought her the scent of many people in the area who were identical to the man who held the poor child in a death grip.  Their sour emotions filled her lungs and threatened to choke her.  Rogue could not allow them to continue their evil.  It was a cliché word but she knew no better term for what she sensed in their hearts.  She would make the bully her example.  

"Let go of him."  It sounded like a simple request, but he stared at her like she had ordered him to cut off his head.  

She raised her voice and walked up to the bodyguard on steroids.  "I said to let him go."  She removed a glove.

He responded that time.  He laughed as if it were all some joke or if she were a naïve child.  She smiled that strange smile of hers that showed both hate, compassion, and pity all at once.  Darkly, she said, "Wrong answer!"  Her voice was a shout that reverberated through the halls as she shot her hand to clutch at his neck.  It was a stretch to reach at first, but his legs collapsed and then it was only a matter of holding the man she now knew as Martin aloft.  The man was taking a long time to fall unconscious, but the strength and general invincibility flowing into her veins explained it.  Her faint awareness of emotion expanded and she felt everything.  'So this is Martin's power,' she mused.  'This is what he was doing to that poor boy.'  She latched onto her victim's fear and fed.  As the seconds went by, her muscles grew and she shot up at least a foot and a half while the man's own size dwindled.  Martin's habit of degrading those he considered weak leaked into her system.  "When a person is told ta let go of someone, they let go," she stated coldly.  "Tell me to let go an' I will."  She lifted him up higher, crushing his windpipe so he could barely breathe, let alone talk.  

Martin would be smiling mercilessly at his victim at that point, but she wasn't him.  Her face was a grim mask of serenity as she watched him struggle uselessly.  The man finally fell into a coma and she gently put him onto the floor.  With his fear of her gone, her body began to shrink without its food source.  Rogue could have willed it to keep its enormous size and power, but she urged it to leave.  There were three reasons.  The first was that her clothes stopped threatening to rip off of her body when it shrank.  The second was that her new strength had been bought at another's expense.  The final reason was a little boy against the wall who was trying to shrink himself into a ball roughly the size of a basketball. 

Rogue replaced her glove and went to the boy.  She knelt and pulled him into her arms.  Stroking his curls, she felt a faint something come out of him and enter her core.  It was hard to pin down what exactly the feeling was.  It was neither love nor respect nor hope nor awe nor sympathy.  It definitely wasn't fear or hate.  He looked up at her suddenly and she recognized his emotion shining through his eyes.  It was simply relief.  The poor thing collapsed and she rocked him gently.  That little insignificant emotion gave her more power than the every combined negative emotion of the small crowd around her had combined.  She looked at Martin in faint disgust.  He had so utterly missed the point of his gift, and in his case the strange power within was actually a gift.  He had perverted it...no that was wrong.  As a child, he was nothing like the monster he had become.  Something had perverted him, had turned his ability to feel and feed off emotion into a weapon.  It had been so long since Martin had been allowed to feed off compassion or love, or any of those good feelings that he had forgotten their strength and could no longer digest them.

As she had fed from him, she had felt faint traces of confusion in him.  She had tasted her own pity and compassion coming from him.  It could only be assumed his body had attempted to save itself by feeding off her emotions, no matter how pure.  Rogue looked at the man.  She could only hope that taste of good would be enough to resurrect the child her new memories told her about.  She wanted to save both Martin and the boy in her arms.

Rogue LeBeau's eyes flicked to the next greatest source of negative emotion in the area.  A handsome older man with Remy's features regarded her coolly.  She returned the favor.  The memories implanted in her mind told her much about Knave LeBeau, the King of Thieves.  She didn't like any of it.  Rogue instinctively knew this was the man who essentially destroyed Martin.  It wasn't hard to figure out that he was also responsible for Remy's split personality problem.  His majesty had created the persona of Gambit LeBeau.  She could imagine a large mold like the ones used to make wax figurines.  The King's mold was made to create the hard prince.  Only instead of wax, the Knave had thrown Remy into it as a soft young child, and then shut the door.  Parts of the boy had not fit and been severed from him for eternity.  The boy had not been large enough to fill the entire space of the mold but the father forced him to copy the given shape perfectly.  Because of that, Remy's outside shell was flawless, but the inside was hollow.

To compensate for the emptiness, the Prince of Thieves created Remy, a childish being that only served to fill the hollow space with playfulness and the occasional tantrum.  He unconsciously called it Remy because he was trying unsuccessfully to replace the child Remy that his father had stolen.  To Rogue, both creations were incredibly botched jobs and Knave LeBeau was responsible for both.  It sickened her to think he was her father-in-law.  She looked into his eyes and found a tiny fear there.  Martin had only known his King to fear one other thing in all his servitude, which made it very likely she was the first thing to scare the Bastard in a little over eight years.  She felt proud of herself.  The only other person to frighten him was Lilly LeBeau.  Martin didn't know why, but she was going to find out.

After a moment, she stood to shake the King's hand.  She didn't allow herself to smile at his terror as he seemed to boldly kiss the back of her glove.  His short hair didn't come close to her skin and she was glad.  Rogue didn't want to ever feel his touch.  She would most likely puke if she did.  The Mademoiselle –she was thankful not to be referred to as Madame or Mrs. – locked eyes with the King the entire time and ignored most of the extensive introductions.  Through Martin, she knew quite a bit of the organization.  It wouldn't do to let Knave know that, but it was helpful.  For instance, she knew the tall dark haired man whom she had met in the garage was Leo, the son of a werewolf.  It certainly explained how strange she had felt after his hair brushed her skin.  It had only been a minor absorption, giving her only heightened senses and a few instincts.  It already had begun to fade, which brought no great relief to the girl.  Spending her full moons in fur was not appealing.  Remy handed the sleeping boy, who no one seemed to know the name of, to Leo to protect and take home when possible.

With that, Remy and she continued down the halls, climbed up a few stairs, and walked into a quite ordinary if spacious apartment.  This was home.  Remy walked around the rooms, touching objects at random.  There were tiny pops and little puffs of smoke rose.  Rogue knew that Knave enjoyed using cameras and other spy equipment, but the sheer number in the apartment amazed her.  Finally, her Homme returned and laughed quietly.

"You know how to make a Hell of an entrance, ma Petite.  Made me right proud."       

***

Ewelina: Are you happy now?  I wrote a long one just for you ('cause I sure don't do these on purpose)

Hitomi Lei:  Thanks for the information.  It was really useful in this chapter

LotusPen:  Does this story have a plot formed out?  Ohhhhhhhh YES!  This entire section has been a bit of a prologue to it.  In fact, the prologue has a little ways to go yet to get things where I want it.  For me, the time isn't in actually writing the story, but in filling in the little details between the big ideas.  

To explain, I've hit three ideas in this fic and they still haven't been resolved the way I want.  They, of course, are:          [1] the bona fide married status of Rogue and Remy,           [2] Remy's volatile nature (and it's all Knave's fault!), and         [3] Lilly LeBeaus' prophecy and what it actually means.  When these three ideas are concrete, the rate that I add chapters to the story will increase greatly (and I'm sure anybody who follows this fic will leapt for joy when that happens...except for the writer, that is...yawn...nighty...night...zzzzzzzzzzzzz).        


	6. De Filles Wake Up

Okay, this chapter moves away from the Remy/Rogue point of view and introduces some other characters, but I haven't abandoned the Southerners.  Yes, this chapter is **_PG-13_.  **

****

De Filles Wake Up

***

Far away from New Orleans, a woman thrashed about, attempting to escape her nightmares.  Her face shone with sweat and tears in the dim light.  With a sigh that seemed more like a sob, she collapsed onto the strange bloated pillows that hotels used.  She opened her eyes slowly.  Beads of moisture clung to her lashes and shook from her body's near invisible tremors.  

Easing herself up, the young woman rested her back and head on the cool smooth wood of the head board.  The crisp sheets fell in stiff folds about her.  Her right hand took its comforting position.  The thumb cradled her right cheek bone and the middle finger dug into her eye socket just to the left of the bridge of her nose.  Her other fingers splayed out, covering her right eye and nose.  She stayed like that, watching the ceiling as she tried to calm down.

Minutes later, she gathered enough courage to look at the hotel room around her.  It was so much like the horrible place where her life had been destroyed years ago.  There were the same bulletproof windows that never opened, the same keypad lock behind the laminated list of rules, even the same damn picture on the wall.

The framed ink blot had plagued her ever since that terrible night.  She had seen everything in it, from bunnies to ants to bats.  But no matter what strange image she saw, after a time it always went back to what she had seen the first time.  The avenging black angel loomed in her vision.  Shaking her head, she got up and walked to the bathroom.  In the darkness, she saw the inkblot again.  In the mirror, the vengeful angel glared at her.  Its voice whispered at her, _"You know what you must do."  She seized the light switch and pulled.  The fallen angel disappeared in the light and her frightened face looked back at her._

The young woman drew a bath of near boiling water, and then drained it away.  It probably did nothing, but the tub seemed cleaner when she did that.  She made another one with cooler water and sank in.  The memory of her screams and splashes came back to her as always, but she hardened her resolve.  It had happened nearly ten years ago and she would get over it.

His demonic eyes glowed in the dark at her.  He had never turned on a light, but kept her in darkness.  She screamed, willing the fear and the memory to exit her body with it.  They never did.  She threw on a robe and turned on every light, even the one in the closed closet.  Sinking onto the bed she screamed.  Safe in a locked, sound-proof room, she would get over it.  She cursed the monster who had hurt her all those years ago.  "Damn you, Darien."  It was a simple thing to say, but hate concentrated the words into a dark and deadly poison.  Again the angel whispered, "_You know what you must do."_  She just ignored the puny voice.  God punished those who deserved damnation far better than she.  She would put no more blood on her hands than there already was.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In a hospital bed in Mississippi, a girl lay deathly still.  She had been discovered deep under the ruins of a collapsed crypt.  The young teenager, identified as Katherine Anna Pryde of Illinois, was something of a miracle.  An emergency rescue team had been returning to base along the road next to the Fairfield cemetery when they saw the vault crash down.  Even though it was illogical that anyone could be inside at that late hour, the team started to dig.  After an hour of clearing out rubble, the girl's foot was uncovered.  Pulled from the broken granite and marble slabs, she was rushed to the hospital.

There were chunks taken out of her flesh and deep abrasions on her lungs.  It was like she had inhaled pieces of rubble, but –strangely– her lungs were clear of debris.  Even more perplexing than that, she had broken no bones.  Katherine was in a severe coma, but she dreamed.

Over and over again, the girl relived the horrible turn of events that brought her to the hospital.

_She heard a muffled scream and ran through the wall to investigate.  She was in a courtyard.  There was a swing hanging from a tree, rose vines growing on the walls, even a dog house.  In the center of it was Kurt.  He lay prone on the ground in his furry form, his image inducer somehow turned off.  She rushed to him.  Someone hit her solidly from behind and she sailed over the blue boy's body.  She crashed into the ground, gaining bruises she would feel for weeks.  Kitty turned her head and saw herself kneel to pick up the Nightcrawler.  _

_The word Mystique came to her lips, but she didn't waste time to say it as she scrambled towards her teammate.  Kitty managed to grip Kurt's hand before the copy touched him.  Her evil twin's hands went through Kurt's body.  The unconscious boy's tail and feet sank underneath the ground, showing exactly what Kitty had done.  The fake Kitty's skin twisted and then there was a midnight blue redhead snarling at the girl.  The adult mutant drew the most horrible thing from behind her back that Kitty had ever seen: a gun.  _

_Mystique cocked it at the girl's head and waited.  Kitty already began to weaken.  Her eyes unfocused and she began to sweat.  She couldn't keep both of them intangible for long and it took all of her willpower to stay that way.  She didn't have time to think about calling for help.  After a few minutes of the standstill, an idea hit her.  The girl pulled Kurt up out of the ground and held him close, making sure that no part of his body was under the earth.  She would bluff intangibility and mentally shout for the professor._

_The bullet went through her head and Kitty abandoned the plan.  "I'm not a fool, girl," Mystique said calmly, as if she were commenting on what she had eaten for lunch.  "Once, I made a career of killing.  That was a long time ago, but old habits die hard.  Give me the boy and you'll both live.  Disappear beneath the ground and surface far away from here.  I won't go after you; you are not who I am after.  Or we can wait for your energy to give out and you will die."  _

_Kitty made her decision, stood up with Kurt, and fled.  Another silent bullet passed through her body before she ran through the wall.  A moment later she heard Mystique scale that wall.  A slug passed through her head.  Each of the morphing woman's shots would have killed the girl if they had hit, but never once had Kurt been in danger.  'Why is Kurt so important to her?'  It didn't matter, she wouldn't let the monster get him and she definitely wasn't going to die.  In desperation, she looked around and saw she was in a graveyard.  Ahead there was a collection of crypts.  She dove into the ground towards one, but turned and swam desperately towards another.  She surfaced in the mausoleum gasping for breath.  Letting go of Kurt, she collapsed to the floor.  Kitty had never phased for so long alone, let alone with another person.  There was a strange yipping sound outside.  After a few seconds, a four legged shadow fell on her and she froze.  _

_'Is that a hyena?  Professor!'  She mentally shouted for Xavier just before a hyena knocked her senseless.  Kitty was up and in a ready stance before she could think.  She was too weak to defend against those teeth and claws.  The spotted animal growled and charged.  She panicked and ran, passing through the column behind her.  But she was too tired and couldn't concentrate.  When she pressed through the stone, some of the column became intangible with her.  Just as she felt the people she phased through objects with her, she felt the block of stone.  Her body slammed into it as if they both were real.  She and the large block fell away from the pillar.  The upper part of the column collapsed and the roof began to falter.  _

_Amid the rumbling, Kurt groaned.  He was waking up.  The hyena trotted over to him and bit his arm.  With a yelp of pain, the Nightcrawler ported away, taking Mystique with him.  Kitty lay in the dark crypt as it fell around her.  The stone had knocked the wind out of her and she was too exhausted to move.  She leaned against one of the tombs.  Maybe it would protect her from the falling debris.  She turned her head to the left and read the plaque.  **~Lilly LeBeau, Queen of **_**_New Orleans_****_~.__  Kitty briefly wondered what the dead girl was doing in __Mississippi__ before the rocks fell on her._**

_It was a nightmare.  She tried to stay intangible, but it was too hard.  Rocks kept getting stuck in her lungs before falling completely through.  She couldn't breathe.  After a shudder, she took a deep breath and pulled herself into Lilly's coffin.  The corpse crawled underneath her.  There, the Shadowcat realized her mistake.  The air in the coffin had long gone bad and she would suffocate in the sealed casket.  'I'd rather die alone than with a corpse for company.  With a final effort, she tumbled out to the opposite side of the tomb.  She was lucky.  A thick sheet of rock had fallen and a small space was open.  It was just small enough for her head and lungs.  After readjusting her body, her mind fell into a stupor.  She concentrated on only two things: staying intangible and breathing._

_As time went by, her ability to phase lessened and her body went from being like air to liquid.  The crashing had stopped and she managed to push bits of rubble aside with her semisolid body.  Finally, there was enough empty space to become real again.  As she did, there was terrible pain.  Some of the rocks hadn't been pushed entirely out of her way.  They tried to occupy the same space as her limbs.  The denser stone won out and destroyed chunks of the girl's legs and arms.  Out of immediate danger, she let herself fall asleep._

Kitty opened her eyes.  She was propped up by pillows in a hospital bed.  Her body felt so weak and she could barely feel her legs.

"So, you're awake."  She turned her head a little and a blonde teenager sat in bed across the room from her.  He played with a football, tossing it lightly from hand to hand.

"I'm Matt.  We came in tha same night in comas.  I was bettah off than you, though.  Docs didn' think you would make it.  No one knows how you survived tha tomb collapsin'."

Kitty narrowed her eyes and asked, "Well, you know how I came in.  Like, how did you get in a coma?"  Her voice sounded –the pun was inevitable– gravelly.

He looked down at the football, as if it explained everything.  Normally Kitty would have tapped her foot, but she wasn't standing and wasn't quite sure she still had feet.  Matt's voice grew quiet, "There was this party.  Fun little gatherin', no beer or anythin'.  All tha football players were there an' our school has this rule.  If a team is nearin' state, tha parties they go ta can' get them in trouble.  School's big on competition.  Don' know why I explained that.  Wanted ta rule out alcohol poisonin', I guess."

He shook his head and looked out the window.  The morning light shone through onto his face, which was lit up with some kind of affection.  "There was this girl.  Beautiful, but intimidatin'.  Not just ta me, the whole county was scared of her a bit.  Took me a long time to work up ta say I liked her, but it worked out.  We talked an' danced.  She liked me too.  Seemed too good ta be true, and it was.  We were out on a balcony an' we kissed.  I felt somethin' awful an' now I'm here."  He threw the football to tha floor.  "Everyone thinks she did something ta me!  They made her run away, an' I feel like its mah fault.  She didn' do anything, just kissed me at tha wrong time."

'She ran away?'  Kitty thought.  Something about that sounded deadly familiar.  Xavier had said the new mutant was a runaway.  'What happened to her?  Did we find her and take her to the Institute?'

She turned the conversation to safer waters like what was the first thing they would do when they could leave the hospital.  Matt was going to see some new movie.  Kitty lied and said shopping.  More likely, she would be filing a missing persons report.  She almost cried when she thought of Kurt.  He was in the grasp of the enemy and she was safe, surrounded by doctors.  She could hardly bear to think about what he was going through.  Mr. Logan walked through the open doorway, ending her anguished thoughts.  He smiled back at a harried nurse in the hall.  "Told yah she was awake."

Fifteen minutes later in the blackbird, she cried into Wolverine's chest.  He patted her head uncomfortably.  All her damaged throat could manage to say was, "I'm sorry."  To make up for the lack of variety, Kitty said it over and over again.

"Don' worry, half-pint.  We'll get 'im back."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rogue awakened and found a surprise in her bed: Remy.  Technically, she was in his bed, but the other two mornings she had woken up to find him gone.  The second time had been on the road in another of those horrible little motels.  Of course the door was locked and it ticked her off to no end.  Remy had eventually come in with another change of clothes that she again had no say in.  At least the colors hadn't been as cheerful as the last set.

She grimaced and looked down.  Still wearing the shirt and pants from yesterday, she felt like a hobo.  The sleeping Remy had on a pair of dark cotton pants and a Tee.  He didn't look nearly so imposing as he did in a muscle shirt, black jeans, and a trench coat.  She placed a hand on his heart, feeling the scar tissue.  Had Knave really done this to him?  

A strong hand lifted hers away.  "What you thinkin', Chere?"

She looked at him quite seriously.  "Is it patricide if I kill him?" she whispered.  Remy pulled her into his arms.

"Martin's memories dat bad?"  She shuddered for an answer.

"Well, I'm just goin' to say this.  T'ink for a minute, Chere.  If Knave LeBeau dies, where does dat put me?  Gambit LeBeau would become King.  I doubt ma Petite would like dat over much."  He sighed, "If it makes you fell bettah, I avoid mon papa an' his business like de plague."

"Then why stay in New Orleans?"  There was nothing Rogue wanted more than to leave the city, to leave the South and go somewhere new.  

Remy placed her hand back on his heart.  "You remember de rules dat go wit' your necklace?"

"Can't leave New Orleans or you an' in return I get protection."

He nodded and continued, "My scar is basically de same t'ing, only dere's no protection.  Many people, dey too scared to try their hand at my death, but a few aren't.  Dere's nothin' holdin' me to N'Awlins, but I'm safer here.  I've been attacked twice before.  De first was here.  Papa's muscle handled it.  De second...dere was no one but me."

Remy closed his eyes.  "It was my first time, my only time.  But it felt so good.  Rogue, I'm scared if I kill again, I'll stop carin' an' just kill for fun.  Dat's why I stay in N'Awlins.  So I don' hafta kill, so I don' become Knave LeBeau's son."

"But you are his son."

He laughed in a way that made her want to cry for him.  "Non, I'm Jean-Luc LeBeau's son.  De world turned Jean-Luc into Knave.  His life, our life, is a hard'un.  Jean-Luc would have died in it, so he hid in Knave.  Now de mask is locked to his face and de key destroyed forever."

He looked away towards the window where morning's light shone inside.  "Dat why he try to make me Gambit.  He wants me to live.  Dat's why, because he loves me."

Rogue looked where Remy's scar -the one his father gave him- lay underneath his shirt.  Martin was no spring chicken and his memories of Knave went back to Remy's early childhood.  The bodyguard had been present for all of her husband's branding sessions.  Every year, on Remy's birthday, Knave had gone over the burns, even though only one time had been necessary according to LeBeau law.  Remy was always in too much pain to notice, but Martin had seen the glint of satisfaction in his King's eyes as he dragged the tiny red-hot wire over his son's skin.

'Because he loves me...oh Remy.  You're just foolin' yourself.  Everything Knave's done, the scar and Gambit...even tha assassins in Disney World and here, it was to control you.  When he can't stand strong anymore, he'll use you as a puppet, pull all tha strings.  An' you think he loves you.  You may look grown up, but you're still just that little innocent boy he tried ta destroy.  God, I just wish I had tha heart ta tell you that.'    

***

I feel so cruel to hurt Remy like this.  And I'm sorry I kidnapped Kurt **and **nearly killed Kitty **and** forced Rogue not to dress like a Goth or wear make-up for two days **and put Logan in such an uncomfortable position ****and made Mystique evil enough to carry a gun **and** _*sob* drowned Jean in a pool of her own yellow, rancid...wait, I never did that...and I like Jean!  Ok, I don't especially love the Evolution version of Jean, but she kicks ass in New X-Men, Xtreme X-Men, the X-Movies, _****and the original TV show.  I'm just waiting for Evo-Jean and Logan to FINALLY . . .   Well, that would be an interesting fic.  (I have dibs!)**

Review Responses:

Gothic Cajun:           **...it explained AND entertained.  How do you do it?    Elementary, my dear Reviewer: you.  I try to look at as many reviews as I can before writing the next chapter.  They are brain food.  I would say about 3000 words in this story have been written because of reviews (not counting the Review Responses section).  They really add to the story by explaining stuff that confuses the reader.  Now be a dear and nitpick my writing.**

Alliriyan:                  ***how* [do] ****you write like that [?] I think the Gothic Cajun response sort of explains it.  REVIEWERS!  Well, there's that, lots of practice, and a little trick of mine.  I use my subconscious.  I know that sounds weird, but it works.  Before I go to bed (or do some tedious thing like math class, biology, you get the idea), I run a few ideas about where I want the next chapter or two to go.  When I get a general idea, I go to sleep.  I don't dream about it, but I wake up and my brain won't stop telling me to do this or put in that.  It's really fun to take the backseat.  The cool thing is, this works for practically anyone who tries it.  Just be warned, you may come up with something totally off topic.  Don't worry; just write it down and save it for a later fic or original story.  It will normally turn out to be gold.**

Red Dragon:             **Rouge can't have kids due to her mutant power, can she?   Two things: [1.] Be careful, dear.  Writing Rogue as Rouge, even if it was an accident, can get you killed in these parts.  [2] Believe it or not, I've already got the kid thing covered.  Wait and see, wait and see...**

sweet-chick3:          You're checking for an update every thirty minutes...wow.  What an honor.  And I'm going to try to post another chapter up by Sunday evening (pray for me).

Anime Addicted:       **How'd you ever come up with this type of idea?          Oh, I'd love to answer that.  It will be tricky, but I'll try.  I normally lay most of the blame on my subconscious, but this idea actually was actually a conscious effort.  1: I wanted a fic with absolutely NO chance for a love triangle.  2: I wanted a Romy fic.  1 + 2 = kill Lance, Scott, Pietro, and Logan, (and throw Todd, Piotr, Evan, Jamie, and Magneto into the volcano too, just in case...and I'll shoot St. John in the head because I don't want him near a live volcano) **or** kick the story down to New Orleans.  I chose answer #2.   **

          I also wanted to break Remy out of his playful player cage.  I could either make him a shy teenager (you couldn't pay me enough to do that) or make him crueler.  Thus, the darker Remy was born.  As to the prophecy I keep driving people crazy about by being vague, I believe my exact words were: 

"And I want get rid of Remy's self-fulfilling prophecy of 'Remy de player an' he get de fille.'  Prophecy...hmm that's off topic but it could work.  But it would have to come from someone already dead...hey, didn't the first Rogue episode happen in a cemetery?"  My subconscious kicked in at that point, but you get the idea...I hope.          


	7. Familie

Okay, extra long because I might not update until 11/28.  

***

Day in de Life

***

"Let me get this straight.  You actually want ta introduce me ta some people in this city."  Rogue's voice was incredulous.  "I thought you hated New Orlean's guts."

He led her through a busy street.  There were colors all around and she wondered what the special occasion was.  "If'n you mean de Thieves' Guild is N'Awlins' guts, den yes, I do.  But I love everyt'ing else, from her pretty little head to her gorgeous soul.  Dese people ain' thieves, Chere.  Dey t'ink I'm just Remy, de player.  Don't ruin it for me."

She looked him in the eye and gave him a look that would sour milk from three hundred yards.  "Define player."  He blinked, a little scared.  He had good right to be.  She was wearing clothes she didn't like for the third time and was very cranky because of it.  She had explained to her husband earlier that it would be the final time, even if she had to wear his hide come morning. 

"Card player, of course, ma Petite."

"I thought so.  Are we meetin' them for breakfast?"

Remy nodded and they finished the walk in silence.  His arm slipped around her waist at some point and she wondered at it.  It was strange, but she didn't immediately struggle against him.  With Martin as her new sensei, she could probably toss him into a wall, but she didn't.  After a moment, she winced when Martin revealed that he had, in fact, thrown Remy into several walls over the years.  They stepped into a busy café.  To the side, a clamoring went up.  "Remy!" nearly two dozen voices shouted with joy.

Rogue rubbed the ear closest to the large group.  "Yow."

He smiled and bent down to whisper in her other, less deafened ear.  "Just be glad this ain't de whole gang."

She looked at him as they traveled towards the mountain of people.  "There's more?"

A man that Rogue thought was of Grecian descent passed by them with a fell into a chair.  He turned to face the couple with hearty laugh.  "Remy!  Where you been, boy?  We thought you died or somethin'.  Who's the pretty lady?"  His eyebrows rose suggestively and Rogue blushed, cursing Remy for her lack of concealing make-up.

Remy laughed.  "Dis is Rogue, Tom.  She's a good friend of Remy's."  Pulling down his shades, he repeated, "A real good friend."  All male flirtation in the assembled crowd ceased and every jaw dropped open.  

A tiny girl with blue and lavender hair sitting in the corner broke the silence with a laugh.  "Remy tied do-own!  Remy tied do-own!"  Her voice had a faint English accent that Rogue found endearing in a preschooler.  The girl started giggling and nearly fell off her chair.  Her waist length hair turned a bright cherry red.  The color traveled down from the roots, following a glitter of white light.  It was Rogue's turn to open her mouth and forget to close it again.

Remy laughed and pushed it shut for her.  "They like us, Chere."  He raised his eyebrows at the people in front of them.  "An' what's wit' de surprise?  Ain't Remy allowed to go serious wit' a fille?"

"No!" a booming chorus answered.

Rogue quirked an eyebrow at her husband and he chuckled uneasily.  "Card player, huh," she said darkly before snatching the shades of his face.

"Hey!"

Remy's gang erupted in laughter as she danced away from his playful lunges.  The rest of the restaurant ignored them, apparently all too used to the group's antics.  It was probably a good thing since Remy's two glowing eyes were visible to the world.  Rogue finally allowed Remy to regain his respectability somewhat by handing back the shades.

The group shifted a bit to let them have seats next to each other.  They laughed almost every second.  Many of them managed to have five different conversations at once at a rate Rogue had thought was impossible to hold one.  The strange and unique people were very kind to her and let her in on all the inside jokes.  

For example: an hour into breakfast, Rogue asked, "What's so funny, that he's old enough to be Emmy's father?"

Hannah Laura -the mother of the hair color changing girl Rogue learned was Caleigh- explained it for her.  "What we're saying is that Allen, this big lump of flub..." She elbowed the flat muscular stomach of the middle aged Allen.  "...looks old enough to be Emmy's..." She gestured to a young teenager who held herself regally. "....father.  Emmy is a…have you read Anne Rice?"

"Yeah…"  Was the girl a vampire?  Emmy had a deep tan, but anything seemed possible in the motley collection of people.

"Tale of the Body Thief?"

"Oh, you mean she takes over other people's bodies."

"Yeah, but I'm sill in residence," Emmy retorted.  Her posture changed to that of a sassy punk.  "Fact, I'm the landlord.  If I evict her, out she goes.  My terminal cancer'll come back, but she'll be gone.  Who knows, maybe when I'm forty, the docs can cure cancer an' we'll say g'bye.  'Till then, friends and family put up with my split personality.  I'm Kelly by the way, she's Amelia.  Emmy's a compromise between the two of us."  Kelly went back to her omelet.  Her voice grew smooth and rich, "Eat the vegetables, Kelly."  Kelly looked to the mirror on the wall and stuck out her tongue.

"Will not.  Will too.  Will not.  Will too.  Will…"

"Anyway," Hannah Laura near shouted over the escalating one person argument.  "Ameilia's older than most nations.  She's one of the early mutants."

"Mutants?" asked Rogue with her mouth full.

"Yes, that's what we are: people with different DNA from normal people.  Anyway, when I say someone looks old enough to be Emmy's parent, I mean that person looks too damn old.  Hear that Allen?  Get some sleep!"

Allen looked up, and wiped away the oatmeal his baby had thrown in his face.  He stood up from his chair and snapped his fingers.  With a little pop, Caleigh's mother was suddenly in the empty chair.  She glared up at him.  "You are a sadist."

"I'm desperate," he replied without a hitch.  Taking the empty seat to Rogue's right, he smiled.  "Hello Caleigh."  The little rainbow child smiled back and tossed her hair, which had turned a smarting shade of orange with sky blue polka dots.  Allen's baby giggled and threw oatmeal into Hannah Laura's open mouth.  Since the infant girl was using her mind to throw stuff about, her aim was dead center.  Hannah Laura swallowed.  "Bleagh!  No wonder Mary won't eat this, it tastes like shit."  

An elderly man clapped his hands over the sides of Mary's head.  "Virgin ears!"  The young mother rolled her eyes and began adding every kind of sweetener the table had to the gruel.  Putting the finished concoction in front of Mary, she smiled, "Knock yourself out, Kid."  The spoon dug into the oatmeal by itself and floated into the air to feed the delighted Mary.  Hannah Laura dragged Allen out of her original chair and sat back down between Rogue and her daughter.

Rogue thought her eyes were going to pop out.  She looked to her left and asked Remy, "How come they don't notice anythin'?"  She gestured to the rest of the restaurant, who went on with breakfast as if nothing was happening.  "Don't they care?"  

"Oh, dey would, Chere.  Dey just can't see dis half of de café.  It's too hard for Remy to explain.  Ask Merin -dat fille over dere- sometime.  Maybe you'll understand it better den ole Remy."

It took a minute for Rogue to find the person her husband had mentioned and Merin still had to wave.  'How am I ever goin' to learn all these people, an' this is only **half** tha normal **mornin**'** crowd.  I'm so tempted just ta touch one an' know just like that.'  She couldn't believe her thoughts and scrubbed her brain clean.**

She hadn't noticed a boy who had looked up sharply at her when she thought that cruel idea.  However, Remy had.

*What you t'inking, Jimboy?* The prince pushed the thought towards the only person in his Mutant family who knew his secret.  

The boy looked at him with wise twinkling eyes.  Those eyes seemed better suited to an eighty year old, but they somehow worked on the boy who had just turned eight.  _*Oh, just a few things, nothing really.  You know...all the answers to all those impossible questions.  Meaning of life, location of the Holy Grain and the Arc of the Covenant, what women want...*_

*I got de answer to dat one.  De wimmen want me.*

_*Bighead.*___

*Pipsqueak.  What you really t'inking?*

_*That girl, she's got some set of morals, but she's tempted to do terrible things.  Don't let her lose her ethics, Prince of Thieves.  If those morals crack, you'll have to decide whether you love her more than the world itself or not.  Because you'll have to let me kill her or kill me before I can finish her off.  If she breaks and someone doesn't stop her, she'll drain this world dead.*_

*Get out, Jimmie.  Before I kill you right...* Remy's head grew fuzzy.

_*Sorry, Bighead.*_

A moment later Remy shook his head and smiled at the boy.  *Sorry, Jimboy.  What were we talkin' about?*

He smiled.  _*You'll remember if and when the right situation comes up.*_

*You and your riddles.  You worse den Grandmama Lilly.  Always spoutin' off prophecies dat you take to mean twenty different things.  An' you still don't see it comin' until it hits you on de head.*

_*Speaking of prophecies, is Rogue the one, the Thief of Spirits?*_

*Yes.  She ran into Grandmama's tomb terrified of somethin'.  Got her out right quick.*

_*Well, that's lucky.  What was that, three nights ago?*_

*Yes, how you know dat?*

_*Just an educated guess.  Lilly's mausoleum crashed down round about ten thirty that night.  Like I said, it was a lucky thing.*_

Remy looked at the boy sharply.  There was something sad about his mental voice.  *Are you holdin' somthin' back from me...*

_*Sorry again, Bighead.*_

Again Remy shook his head and entered a conversation, taking Tom's side that motorcycles rode circles around sport cars.  Jimmie looked at him sadly.  

'Yes, I am holding something back, Remy,' he thought to no one but himself.  A girl nearly died under that rubble.  Checked in her mind in the hospital.  There was some fine shielding work on her and I couldn't see it clear as I would like, but she had gone in there to hide.  Like you said, Lilly's prophecies were never simple.  

_"Remy, when tha belle runs to my grave ta hide, take her away, drag her if yah have to.  She's like us, like myself.  Nevah let her go.  She belongs ta you.  But don't you ferget you belong ta her, Remy LeBeau!  Have her, hold her, be her Guardian Devil.  You're all tha Belle has, Remy.  Yer task is to make tha thief that steals spirit believe it!"_

'Those were the exact words, right?  I don't think Lilly was still in her right mind when she told you that, Remy.  It's all mixed up: too repetitive, too many "she"s.  Far as I can tell, there were three females in that tomb in the same ten minutes: Rogue, Katherine, and Mystique –if I read that girl's mind right.  Lilly was trying to tell you about three females, not just one.'

Jimmie settled into his chair to think.  He liked riddles and fixing up Lilly's last prophecy might actually be a challenge.  'Rogue is obviously the belle.  She's the only girl that resembles a Southerner in the bunch.  She's also the thief that steals spirit, but it sounds too vague for me to be absolutely sure.  

_'Have her, hold her..._ also sounds like Rogue, them being married.  She's the only one of the three that wouldn't be able to take off the necklace so that's got to be her.  Mystique would turn into a snake and slither out and Katherine would just do that ghost thing and let it fall to the ground.  

'This Katherine seems be the protection part of the prophecy.  _...runs to my grave ta hide..._ that seems to fit the bill, but she didn't run, she swam.  She was the only one that went there to hide on purpose though.  

'..._take her away, drag her if yah have to...  Lilly told Remy to take away a "her" twice, so I assume she wanted Remy to save both girls.  _

_'Be her Guardian Devil_...  That's probably meant for Katherine too.  The other two don't seem to need much protecting, but that girl is vulnerable.

'And then this Mystique, the mysterious assassin from yesteryear.  _Runs to my grave_ is for her alone.  Rogue popped in with a sulfur cloud and Katherine came in from the ground.  That woman ran in, on all fours, but she ran in.  Other than that, I can't think of anything for her.  The rest of the lines are too vague to pin to one female.  What part does she play in this?  What the Hell was Lilly getting at?  

'I guess I'll just have to wait and see, hope I can steer them in the right direction.'

Jimmie stood up and claimed he had to go.  He was the first to leave, but they all eventually filtered out, leaving money littered all over the table.  The staff had long learned to deal with their strange customers.  Always keep half the restaurant for them, never actually say how much they owe, and clean up whatever strange mess they left.  When the money was counted up, the group had always overpaid and left a generous tip to boot.

  
Rogue and Remy left somewhere in the middle of the departures.  They went shopping and Remy had it sent to the apartment.  They walked home and in the massive garage, he declared he had to do some task alone.  Rogue had to go on without him.          ****

"You know your way back from here?"

"Yes, Remy," she said in a singsong voice, acting like a six-year-old.  She turned and waved goodbye with a bright smile before walking into the LeBeau Labyrinth, as she liked to think of it.  Out of sight, Rogue dropped the smile.  It had been for Remy alone and she saw no reason to waste it on Knave's hierarchy.  She walked through the halls confidently, like she had grown up traversing them.  Technically she had, thanks to Martin, but the world hardly knew that.  Only her husband knew she could absorb memories.  She wanted it to stay that way as long as possible, meaning to her grave somewhere in the 22nd century.  

As to why Remy knew, Rogue had started speaking German on the road.  It had confused both of them to no end.  Rogue looked through her memories and found an image of herself looking in a mirror.  The reflection was of the blue demon that had attacked her that night.  He talked to someone out of sight in German.  

Remy had demanded an answer from Rogue over and over for two hours.  Eventually, she just relented and told him her theory that she absorbed people's memories and asked sweetly if he wanted to test the theory.  The man had quickly steered the conversation to Cajun food.  

"Ich bin kein Dämon," a voice whispered.  "Ich bin ein Junge!"  Rogue didn't look around the corridor to find the speaker; it had come from within.  She slowed her pace and silently demanded, *Who are yeh?  I know you're tha blue monster that attacked me.*

There was a sardonic laugh.  *Me attack you?  Don't make me laugh.  Wait, too late.  You attacked me.  I am ze one who took a dirt nap.  I am ze one who woke up und found himself in you, Mädchen.  Am I still alive outside of you?*

Rogue didn't lose her mask of utter serenity, but her inner voice grew a little twisted.  *Unfortunately, yes.  Far as I can tell, you're just a copy.  You're not even real.  So shut up and let me live mah life.*

*You call zat a life?  It is a billion dollar film with a B-movie plot.  Zhere's cool effects und exciting action scenes, but zhere's no depth.  Why do you stay hier?  Zis Remy has cool friends, but look at ze family business.  Why are you so resigned to fate?*

*I don't really have a choice, Blue Boy.*

*Ah, so ve agree I am not a Dämon but a Junge now.* There was a hint of humor in his dark attitude.  

*Shut up, and it's not like I have a choice.  There is this silver collar...*

*It's not silver.  It's adamantine, unbreakable stuff made from fallen stars.*

The necklace felt heavy on her neck.  An unbreakable marriage tie...why did that sound like something only a LeBeau would think of?  *And you know that how?* she demanded of the captive mind.

*Mädchen, at home I am nearly sliced in two by adamantine blades every day.  It is hardly something you can forget.*

*Some home.*

*You have no idea.  Back on topic, why do you put up with zis?*

It gave Rogue a start.  In the beginning, she had been willing to kill Remy to get away.  Why had she given into her new, terrifying and exotic life so quickly?  *I can't go home...*

He cut her off.  *Zhat's hardly a good reason.  He kidnapped...ahead of you.*

*I see it.*                      

Rogue did see it.  Knave LeBeau and entourage blocked her path.  His voice rand down the hall as she walked steadily closer.  "We were never properly introduced...Rogue, is it?"  It was the first time she had heard the King speak with her own ears.  His voice held no accent, which surprised her lightly. 

She went as close as she could without being forced to crane her neck to look him in the eye.  She smiled, giving the expression no hidden meaning.  "I thought we were introduced quite well."  Rogue couldn't help but hint at her absorption of Martin's memories.  "I learned a great deal about you in our short meeting."

She put aside her own accent as well to sound more intelligent.  Speaking like a Southerner wasn't entirely natural for her anyway.  Originally from the Midwest, a place that some joked had the "no-accent" accent, Rogue had only come to Mississippi when she was four.  She had adopted the accent of her "Aunt" Irene, but it occasionally went away when she was angry.  Standing next to the Bastard, she was very angry.

"If you will excuse me.  I wish to return to my apartment."

"No, I'm afraid we really must have a talk."  A burly man walked to her left side and pointed a gun at her head.  

The girl smiled sadly, shaking her head slightly.  "I disagree."  Using the memories of Martin the bodyguard-who was absent from the King's men, she made her move.  Her hand shot out and grabbed the gun, dragging the gunslinger's arm forward.  At the same time she locked her leg around both of his and yanked them backwards.  She wasn't big or strong enough to pull the large man down with either move, but the two together brought him to the floor.  His grip on the gun loosened slightly and she tugged it out of his grasp.  Twirling it around deftly to hold it in the correct way to shoot with, she aimed the deadly little thing at the King.

Three other guns were instantly trained on her head.  The furry boy in her head was right, her life was a movie.  Rogue didn't look smug or say anything, but let the gun talk.  The Martin part of her was impatient; he was trigger happy.  It was hard to hold the gun steady while he demanded she shoot.  Suddenly, something in her shoved the man aside and a ghostly hand held the firearm steady for her.  *Go ahead an' get yerself outta this,* a familiar voice said.  

*Matt?*

*Yes, we'll talk latah, just finish this.*

Rogue stopped and thought about the situation.  If she did kill Knave, there was a large probability that his men wouldn't shoot her back.  He wasn't loved at all and there was the necklace's protection on her side.  Martin assured her the protection promise that came with it was very well enforced.  

She wouldn't actually shoot him though.  Remy wouldn't be able to fill the man's shoes without destroying himself.  None of the party around her knew that little fact, however.  Rogue would use that to her advantage.  

None of her possible killers stood close enough for her to disarm them like their idiot predecessor, who had slunk away behind the line of men.  On the flip side, none of them could snatch away her borrowed gun.  And if she was shot, there would be a civil war between traditionalists and those loyal to the King.  Knave was no fool.  He knew all of that.  He also underestimated females to a point way past idiocy.  It was to get him killed one day.

She smiled at him once more.  It wasn't a cruel or a sweet smile; it was a little pitying twitch of the lips.  "Are you so insecure that you must attempt to control your son through his wife?  Are you truly so timid that you must take four bodyguards simply to talk with your daughter-in law?  Are you such a thickheaded fool that I must give you more than two examples to get the point across?"  

His face became the picture of rage but she was unfazed.  Knave didn't hold a candle to Gambit's fiery glare.  "Now if y'all will excuse me, Ah need mah beauty sleep," she finished flippantly in a flawless imitation of a brainless Southern belle.  Rogue walked right through their blockade.  She tossed the gun to the man she had taken it from.  "Y'all take care now."

An image of Blue Boy in full cheerleader attire chanting, "Give me an R!  Give me an O..." appeared in her head.  Her delighted laughter echoed through the hall.  It gave just the right finishing touch to her encounter with Knave.  He fumed and stormed off.  Matt and the fur ball were rolling on the floor with mirth, figuratively speaking.  Even Martin gave a low chuckle.  Also, she thought she heard a faint yapping that sounded something like a gleeful puppy.

*Mein apologies, Rogue.  Ze movie of your life is Super.*  The image of the cheerleader disappeared and he sat in an otherwise empty movie theater with about forty pounds of movie snacks.  *I have popcorn, let's do something else exciting.  It's cool being in your head.  No school, all the imaginary food I can eat...zis is ze life.*

Her metal voice dripped with innocence.  *You resigned yourself to tha situation quick.*

*Oh shut up.*  The picture changed again and he was wreathed in flames and sulfurous smoke.  He bared fangs very much like a tiger's and began cursing in German.

She turned on an industrial strength fan and blew away the smoke and mirrors.  Amid the shattering of imagined glass, she growled through clenched teeth, *Shut up yourself.  You're not as bad as ole Knave back there, but Gambit still holds tha record for most terrifyin' death glare.  Why am I okay with this situation?  I'm not, but I'm locked ta Remy, just like yer stuck in me.  I'm just making tha best of things, same as you.  You liked it when I kicked Knave's ass.  I enjoyed meeting Hannah Laura an' her little girl.* Rogue stopped and thought for a moment.  The fur ball had made her laugh without sorrow lying underneath.  It was the first time she had been able to do that since Matt.  Before Matt, it had been a long, sad decade.  She smiled and said to all of them, even Martin and the dog she wasn't quite sure really existed, *I'm makin' tha best of all of you too.  Least it won't be lonely up here anymore.*

*I'm Kurt Wagner, the Nightcrawler.*

*I prefer Blue Boy.*  She threw a pail of bright blue paint over him to prove her words.  An all out paint war erupted between Rogue and the two boys while Martin sat in an old rocking chair on some sort of old-fashioned porch, absently scratching a silvery dog's ears.  There was a spring to her step as she went back the apartment.  Rogue thought of her strange breakfast company and the permanent boarders in her head.  She thought of Remy.  She finally had what she wanted most in the world: a very large, very dysfunctional family.                 

***

Awww...Did that clear things up or make it even more confusing?  Aren't the little mutant kids cute?  Jimmie's brutal and I don't want to be around Mary in a temper tantrum, but they're still cute.

***

Review Responses

***

Original + star_of_chaos :   You've both hit on the prophecy as relates to Kitty.  As you can see, it's a mess.  How clear can people be on their deathbed?  Not very.  Don't worry, Jimmie will check in every now and then to try to make sense of the thing.  Again, isn't he cute?  Very scary powerful, but cute.  

Lightspeed Suzuka:  Yeah, I was joking about the Jean/Logan thing, sort of.  I just want to see Scott's face.  *brandishes fancy twenty-shots-a-second camera* I'm seriously thinking about a "practical joke gone wrong" fanfiction though.  Bobby just might hate the two of them enough to spread the rumor.  (I still have dibs until I choose not to write it).

Sweet-chick-3:  Who's the girl in the hotel room...I don't know.  My subconscious ordered me to put her in.  I'll tell you why she's in it when my mind deems me worthy enough to know.

Addicted!...I'm addicted...addicted so update!...yikes!  What am I, a drug or something?  I'm not yelling at anyone, its actually kind of flattering to get readers that feel that way.  Anyway, what do you people think/like/feel confused about?

Over 100 reviews, YIPPEE!


	8. Runnin' to de Kidnapper

Okay, the consensus is that the prophecy has become much more confusing.  I hate to say this, but that was the idea.  I love prophecy stories, but the answer is always so obvious to me by the midpoint of the first book in the trilogy.  Since you all are hanging on my every word (again according to the general consensus), I figured it was guinea pig time.  I'm trying out a prophecy from a trusted source (Lilly) that got muddled up in the telling.  It's all going to come true, but not in the way anyone thinks (including Remy and Jimmie).  It all resolves itself in the end, but until then, I live for your confusion.  [FOR THE PROPHECY ONLY!  If anything else is confusing, tell me right away so I can try to fix it.] 

***

Runnin' to de Kidnapper

***

Kitty sank onto a bench in the mall.  She waved Jean off; pointing to her legs and then the stilettos she wore.  Those shoes had been specifically chosen for the shopping trip.  Her fellow institute female was a victim of high, often very thin heels.  Every night the redhead threw away the monsters for a pair of soft slippers and swore, "Never again."  But no matter how strong her resolve, they were back on her feet come morning.  Kitty had long suspected the telekinetic's seeming ability to glide through the air as she walked was real, that she used her powers to lift some of her weight off her painful shoes.  The point was: because of her little unstoppable self-torture, Jean immediately sympathized with anyone who had to rest their feet.

Grey put her hands up in front of her shoulders and extended all of her fingers.  Kitty shook her head, also held out her hands and opened and closed them twice.  Her transportation shrugged and walked off.  The seated girl relaxed.  Twenty minutes was more than enough time.  She relaxed and watched the large clock hanging on the opposite wall.  4:59, she had cut it close.  The minute hand ticked forward to lay on the zero minute mark.  At the same time, a cell phone rang on the bench beside her.  She looked at it quietly.  It rang again.  Kitty took a deep breath.  Third ring.  She quickly picked it up and answered the call just before the soft chime ended.

A deep, contemptuous voice reverberated through the small phone.  "_You were having second thoughts.  How typical of the young and foolish."_

Kitty narrowed her eyes, stung.  "I picked up before the third ring was over.  Like, don't you think twice about your actions?"

_"All the time, but not as I make them.__  Indecisiveness can spell death.  In this case, Mr. Wagner's life depended on you being prompt.  Did you believe I would not follow through with my threat?"_

"Yes.  The way I remember it, you were very careful not to hurt him."

"Blackmail doesn't work very well if the ransom is dead."  Pryde gripped the phone, barely remembering to not let her hand phase through and kill the call.  The person on the line laughed.  _"Temper, temper._  Don't destroy my phone until after we are finished."__

She looked around, startled.  "You can see me?"

_"Of course.__  I wouldn't still be alive if I didn't use every advantage at my exposal.  I have learned that some people are very good liars when only speaking.  It is their faces that tell the truth and I go by that.  Ah, but you are on a time limit.  Let us move the conversation to more fertile topics.  Our encounter in _Mississippi__, for example."____

"Do you wish to torture me on my failure?  If that is the case, get it over with."

The woman's voice was faintly amused.  _"I thought congratulations were in order.  You did well, my worthy opponent.  If only you weren't so poorly trained."_

"My Institute teachers are excellent."

_"For understanding your abilities and basic survival skills, yes, they are...proficient.  But survival is not victory and understanding the power you possess does not mean you can use it properly.  But your professors, they have not even taught you about your ability and what you may do."_

She gritted her teeth.  "I do not wish to do anything.  I am working for control."

_"To know control, one must first let go."_  Before Kitty could question her on the proverb, Mystique changed topic.  _"I see you have dropped that deceptively carefree speech of yours.  Good, even if it is an accident.  I take it I am speaking with the real Katherine now.  Keep it that way."  _

Kitty pulled the cell from her ear and looked at it bewildered.  She had fooled people with her airhead ways for years.  Was she losing her touch?  Returning it to talking position, she asked, "Is it that obvious?"

_"Only to someone who has studied human mannerisms and copied them for centuries."_  The caller's voice grew a little sharper.  "_Now to business._  We are both too mature for idle chatter.  You want the return of Mr. Wagner, that is a given.  But ask yourself, "What does the blackmailer want?"  Oh, there are several things, but there is one in particular at the moment.  And you are the only person who can get it for me."__

"A coincidence, I'm sure."

_"Perhaps.__  The point is this.  I will do anything to ensure my demand is met."_

Kitty's voice rose uncontrollably.  "If you hurt Kurt..."

_"Remember where you are.  Where you sit in that busy place and where you stand with me."_

"I am this close to losing control and destroying this phone!"  She snarled in a furious whisper, careful to keep her face calm.

_"But will you risk it?"_

Kitty slumped into the bench.  The back's pattern, slats of wood spaced next to each other, reminded her of the bars of a cage.  She closed her eyes and felt her features twist into a painful sorrow.  She didn't care what the woman saw in it.  "You are the mother of all monsters, Mystique."

_"You have no idea how right you are, child."  _There was something behind that sentence, but Kitty was too mentally exhausted to think what it was_.  "In your shopping bag there is a jewelry case.  Open it."_

Kitty reached into the bag at her side and felt a small leather box.  Inside, there was a strange sort of ear ornament.  Made of some golden metal, it was meant to fit over nearly the entire ear, leaving only the ear canal and the bottom of the lobes exposed.

_"Put it on."_

"How many different ways can it kill me?"

_"Good girl, you are not entirely naïve.  It contains a poisonous needle that extends out roughly six inches and can punch through steel.  You would be dead before you could think of ghosting."_

"Interesting."  There was no response.  Kitty didn't need to ask what would happen if she took it off without Mystique's permission.  Goodbye Kurt.   Sighing, she continued, "I assume this may be safely removed when I have completed this task."

_"Never assume, Katherine,"_ Mystique chided.  _"In this case, your assumption is correct.  I despise continued blackmail.  It is only proof that a person is not intelligent enough to control another in more than one way."_

"Why does that make me feel uncomfortable about my future?"

_"Because it should.__  Learn to keep the book of your life chained and locked three different ways.  It will save you pain."_

"I assume you speak from past experience."

_"Never assume.  Put on the earpiece.  All you need is in the backpack next to your bag.  Follow my instructions perfectly and you and Mr. Wagner just might live to see your lovely Institute again."_

The phone went dead.  Kitty felt near ready to cry but didn't give the watching monster the satisfaction.  She thought of warning the Professor and all the others, but she knew it would just kill Kurt.  The situation was impossible; Mystique held all the strings and she was just a little puppet.  

Kitty placed the earpiece on her left ear and nearly yelped when it snapped shut, piercing itself to her ear in several places.  "Joy, I can wear about twelve earrings on that ear when this is over," she grumbled as she rummaged through the bookbag that had mysteriously appeared next to her own.  She drew out a leather-bound notebook.  Paging through it, the Shadowcat didn't like what she saw.  There, in a transparent sleeve on one page, was money for a taxi cab down to Philadelphia and a train ticket to Ohio from there.  There was even a forged letter with birth certificates and three kinds of identification that said Raven Darkholme was sending her daughter, Katherine Darkholme to her residence for the rest of the school year.  It shocked Kitty to see her Principal's name registered as her mother.

'Mystique is the principal?  Well, that explains why she hates us.'

Kitty flipped the page and saw another train ticket taped next to a list of some sort.  She set the notebook aside and looked through Mystique's backpack.  There were several changes of clothes and...she couldn't help but smile.  A sturdy pair of tennis shoes, very high quality, and a pair of socks came out of the bag.  She put them on and stuffed the stilettos in her original bag, trying not to think how the monster had known the right size.

Looking back at the list by the second train ticket, her faint smile dropped into a glare.  It was a long list of rules.  

'Never talk unless directly told to speak...bullshit.'  Kitty put the ticket with the other one and promptly crumpled up the list.  She was forced into Mystique's claws, but she wasn't going to be a meek little servant.  She hefted the back over her shoulder and walked towards the exit.  She only stopped to throw the list away before walking out to the cab Mystique had said would be waiting for her money.

***

Mystique laughed quietly as Katherine tossed the wadded up piece of paper into the trash.  "Good girl."  She hit a button on the remote and her hack of the mall surveillance severed itself.  She put down the small little channel changer and rolled over on her bed to see two test tubes of red blood.  A computer buzzed faintly as it analyzed the samples.  Mystique fought to keep the faint smile she had picked up when dealing with the girl.  Soon she would know who the boy really was.  She would redraw her plans for Katherine after she knew.  The woman fingered a tiny white-gold locket.  "Soon."

***  
Jean went back to the bench on time.  She milled about, confused at Kitty's abandon on the area.  Startled at seeing the shopoholic's bag all by itself, she rushed forward to investigate.  Sure enough, it was Kitty's bag.  Her shoes were even inside the bag.  Jean called out wildly for the girl.  Kitty just wouldn't walk away barefoot.  There was no answer.

The redhead sat on the bench and concentrated.  *Professor, I can't find her!  Kitty, she's disappeared.*

After a minute of silence, she heard Xavier's sorrowful voice in her head.  *Come home Jean.* She just sat there shocked.  "She can't be dead," Jean whispered as her eyes swam.  Numbly, she stood and walked towards the parking lot.

The shopping bag sat all alone until closing time. 

star_of_chaos: 

You think I implied Remy married the wrong woman!  What sort of depraved mind do you take me for?  I'm not mad, don't worry.  

Jimmie explains in CH 7 that Rogue is the only one of the three that couldn't just take off the necklace (see, even he knows it means that the necklace means marriage LeBeau style).  Kitty would phase through it and Mystique could just morph into something small and crawl/slither/hop out of it.  They'd have to think about it, but it would still be a piece of cake.  Rogue (without outside absorption help) has no way to get rid of the adamantine, booby trapped marital bond, so that part of the prophecy can **_only_** be for **_her_**.     

Gothic Cajun:

Now this is what I'm talking about, Master Nitpick.  

_Why have the mutant powers of the small children already manifested?  
_            **Explained in the next few chapters**

_When she has the paint war with Matt and Kurt, is she just seeing this in her head, like an inner movie?_

Yes, it's in her mind.  Sorry if that wasn't clear.  But where else could Matt, Kurt, Martin, the dog, and Rogue be?

_Where did the dog come from?  Is it Mystique?  
1: Rogue hasn't met Mystique yet.  In some fics she has an earlier relationship with her adoptive mother, but I think that Mystique just pays Irene to "watch" over Rouge while she keeps her distance._

_            **2:  Guess I dropped the ball on this one.  It will be explained later, most likely in the same chapter that explains the kids' early mutations.                **_

_Will Jimmie tell Remy what the prophecy means?_

**Maybe.****  I don't really know yet.  He's mostly in this fic for foreshadowing.  He lets the reader know about future events and explains things without letting the cat out of the bag for the other characters.**

_How would polka-dotted hair look?_

Have you ever seen clown costume material?  Think bright orange silk with large blue circles every now and then.  Take that pattern and put it in Caleigh's hair.  It won't stay perfect because hair moves, but whenever it settles down flat; the circles can be seen quite well.  

Lilith Night: Now that's a review.  

I knew most of what you told me but thank you anyway.  It's going to be resolved soon.  About the name of "Knave" fitting Remy better, I don't know.  I think Jean-Luc fits the bill quite nicely.  You'll see why as the fic progresses (think about the negative connotations of Knave).

Athena:  Surprise!   I updated just for you.  But I'm serious now.  My report card is coming in on Friday and I have to study for about twelve tests this week.


	9. Mutti und Sohn

Sorry this took so long.  My computer's internet is down and my family hogged the other computer.

***

Kurt sat on floor in his strange prison.  The boy wore the loose black cotton pants that had been in the tiny closet and nothing more.  It was a small piece of defiance, he supposed.  The shirts and pants were all the same.  Not wearing the white shirt was his only way to have a choice and not go naked where it counted.  His original clothes were gone.  His captor didn't believe in boxers.  

He looked around.  It hardly seemed a cell at all, but like a luxurious apartment.  It had all the necessities of life –cable TV and an overlarge food pantry that refilled itself constantly.  He was free to wander about the spacious rooms.  The door out was clearly marked and unlocked.  There were only three things that reminded the Nightcrawler that he was a captive.  

The first lay on his bedside table.  It was connected to the wall by a short but sturdy chain.  It was a gun of sorts.  Kurt knew both the firearm and the chain were made of adamantine.  Logan had slashed at him so many times in the Danger Room that the image of the metal was permanently seared into his brain.  

The Nightcrawler turned his head away from the terrible futuristic weapon and looked at the walls and ceiling of the bedroom.  They -and the rest of the apartment- were also adamantine.  How Mystique had amassed so much of the space metal was beyond even his fantastical imagination.  Kurt slid backwards and felt the biting chill of cold metal on the relatively furless areas of his back and neck.  He slammed his head back and made a tinny clunking noise.  He didn't care about the headache it would give him and smashed his head into the wall again.  His cell's walls were seamless and unbreakable except for the grates that fed the rooms air.  Kurt had the sense of being deep underground, being surrounded by tons of solid rock on every side.

There was a wheezing noise and Kurt refocused his bleary eyes to look at the third thing.  He looked at a television screen set into the wall opposite him.  The sound had come from its speakers.  The show playing held him in morbid fascination.  He couldn't bear to turn it off.  Wagner wouldn't take his eyes off it for a second.  He had good reason; it starred a very good friend of his.

Kitty lay in a bed, hooked up to the dozens of machines that prolonged her life.  She looked so fragile, as if she would crumble to dust if she were touched by a moth's wing.  Yet she lay in a monster's jaws.  All Mystique had to do was swallow.  Kurt could never forget when the Demoness had shut off Kitty's life support to make her point.  The screen had split in two to show the blue woman's cruel face and Kitty as she began to die.  There had been horrific convulsions and then a terrible silence before Mystique had relented to his begging and allowed the girl to live a while longer.  Her voice, so hollow and cold, had echoed harshly around the metal cell.  _"Do not leave this place and do what I say and the girl will be kept alive.  Clean up that mess."  Kurt had stared at the two ladies on the screen, on his knees surrounded by a pool of vomit._

Kurt looked at that spot on the floor, now meticulously clean.  The floor was wooden, but he knew it was only a cover for the metal below.  An earthquake -the size of which the world had never known- could have ripped through the area and Kurt's prison would have gone undamaged.  Assuming the air vents that sent air into the cell were lined with adamantine as well, he would survive until "rescued."

The lights dimmed and Kurt sighed.  He had been dreading that moment.  Slowly, he stood up and padded to the bed.  Reaching for the strange gun, he took a deep breath and raised it to his neck, pressing it onto the hollow to the left of his voice box directly under the chin.  Such a good little boy he was being, follow orders so well.  Kurt put his finger on the trigger.  It didn't have the little loop of metal around it and the gun fit his unique hand perfectly.  "Made just for me?  You shouldn't have," Kurt muttered.  A flicker of blue caught his attention and he turned to see Mystique on the screen.  She replaced Kitty and Kurt snarled.  How dare she think herself more important than his friend?  He studied the monster's face long and hard.  She would die a thousand ways in his dreams and he wanted the dream Mystique to be an exact replica of the real depravity.  

He punched the trigger and felt the needle's jab.  The world began to shiver in front of his eyes and then warp.  He stumbled backwards onto the bed, dropping the tranquilizer gun.  Kurt fought to stay awake just a little longer, to stare hate into the tranquil face of the enemy for just a moment more.  He lost the battle and darkness took him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mystique watched her son curl up on the bed.  His tail twitched one final time, and then he was still.

"My son," she whispered, a tear flowing down the groove between her nose and cheek.  The baby that had slipped from her arms was still alive.  Glancing back at the wonderful computer screen, she reread again and again the glorious sentence, 49.68% DNA match.  Kurt was half her; he was hers.

She laughed gaily at her thoughts.  In normal circumstances, the child was of the mother.  If a baby was half her, she was its mother.  Mystique, because of her unique amorphous genetic material, always threw out wild cards when it came to the DNA she gave her children.  Kurt had been no different from the others.  He was entirely different from other humans, not at all like the form Mystique had been during the pregnancy.  So, to be closer to her baby, she did what she always did.  She became the baby, and then changed this and that until she was half him and half something else.  In a way, Mystique was Kurt's daughter. 

That was what ancient theories of the creation of children had taught her –throwing out the pompous male idiots that said women were just vessels for their manliness to do all the work.  Part –typically half- of each parent's physical self was combined to create a new life.  If she was half someone, she was his child.  Genetics had only proved the theory. 

A smile quirked over her midnight blue face, the "default setting" she had worn since Kurt's birth.  'Ah genetics,' she thought, hearing the myriad of voices that had been hers over the years say it all at once.  Unlike the rest of the modern world...that wasn't doctors and Sexual Education Teachers, Mystique loved science and the way it explained things.  She loved precise words, despising nicknames and the like.  All those "modern" terms she had embraced fully the first time had heard them.  Genetic mutation was so much easier to bear than body snatcher, demoness, and monster.  

When she first heard that wonderful set of scientific words, Mystique had thought of a future where she could go out and live with the world instead of being hidden from it.  After a few decades, she learned she would never live to see that shining day.  Unless the exotic and freakish became the majority, no mutant would either.

Mystique clicked her teeth together in odd patterns, an old habit she had picked up somewhere.  It meant she was thinking too deeply about nothing important.  Sighing, she pulled the keyboard from her bedside desk.  She snapped her fingers to take her son off the large flat screen and make it a computer monitor.

49.68% DNA match.  She smiled sadly and shut down the program.  Idle fantasies of a relationship with her son were just that: fantasies.  He hated her from the bottom of his heart now.  If Mystique had not been forced to think on her feet -something she did terribly and avoided at all costs, it would have been only a matter of time.  She would have dropped her loose bargain with Magneto, switched sides entirely if necessary.  The best way would have been to insinuate herself into the Institute as a professor.  The Wolverine wouldn't have caught her scent as his current disguise of Logan.  Mystique doubted he remembered even something as memorable as her smell from their earlier encounters.  

She wouldn't be herself of course, but would play some physically altered mutant that would draw her son to her.  There would be an obvious kinship because they were both "freaks."  No one would think it odd for her to act motherly towards the boy.  When Mystique had gotten close enough to Kurt, the...Wagners?  Yes, that was the name.  An unfortunate accident would befall the Wagners.  Her offer to adopt would be taken and everything would be as it should be.

Mystique was clicking her teeth again.  "Idle fantasies again, monstrous mother?  Darker -yes, they are- but still pointless.  The Wolverine knows you now and will track that scent to any guise you take.  And now I'm talking to myself.  Be on task, there is work to be done."

She glanced at the screen and studied the information.  Katherine was in New York, at the train station.  The girl was almost two hours early, and Mystique appreciated the meaning behind the gesture.  It meant she was blackmailing a competent, mature person.  She pulled up a different program and hacked into the train station's surveillance system. 

It was one of the surprisingly simple things that technology allowed her to do.  As the world grasped new technology, everything became connected in a great web that she -the spider- only had to crawl along the strands to reach the juicy moth and drain it dry.  The camera system normally ran through a company server in modernized buildings.  Companies and others who used surveillance that had something to hide didn't make that mistake and were trickier to reach.  The NY Train Depot was an open book and Mystique had no trouble commandeering the cameras.     

The Blue woman watched the screens for a while, looking for the right angle.  When she found the camera she wanted, she wrested it from the system, rerouting it to send its data through the net to her computer.  The person paid to watch the screens would think nothing of it.  One camera malfunctioning was normal and nothing to be concerned about.  

Mystique studied the black and white Katherine Pryde.  She didn't mind the lack of color.  In fact, it gave her nostalgia for the days when moving pictures had first delighted her.  The girl whiled away the time watching various young children.  She sat on a bench, showing teeth in a bright grin whenever a little one particularly mortified his parents.  Every now and then, she toyed with a glinting object on her left ear thoughtfully.  Katherine glanced at her watch.  Mystique looked at the computer's clock.  She abandoned the depot surveillance system, grabbed a laptop and left the room.  She had a train to catch.

Thinking back on Katherine as she rode in her limo to the depot, Mystique's ever-present amused smile disappeared.  "Poor child.  Whatever innocence she harbored with that bubbly, cheerful shell is going to die.  You can't put a girl into the LeBeau snake hole and not have it happen.  But they can come out again, alive.  I will get both of them out."

With that adamantine promise ringing in her mind, the ancient thief of all trades stepped into the station.  Her newest pupil awaited her.    

***

Bum Bum Buuummmmmm!  The plot thickens...again...I think.  I can never tell when I've been too subtle.  And if Mystique's logic/thoughts sound shaky, I have my reasons.  

There, another chapter.  I've really got to work on my other fics.  They're dying from want of attention.  My poor babies!  I mean, maybe I would update more if people read them...*makes two-year-old's version of puppy eyes (kryptonite for the entire human species).*  I hate to sound like an advertisement, but if someone would please look at them.  And review, that's good too.  Tell me how much you hate them if nothing else.  ("Stoic" is actually a cruel...cool story, just give it a chance)  

Review Responses

**Flamekiller**:  You had some questions I didn't expect to get.  

**When did Kurt get kidnapped? … How did she manage to get a hold of Kurt?  **Uh…I thought it was obvious but okay.  In "De Filles Wake Up" chapter, we all know the tomb crashes down on poor exhausted Katherine (I like that name so much better than Kitty).  Kurt and Hyena-Mystique are in the tomb as well, but the morphing woman bites the barely conscious Kurt, who ports them out.  He does it without thinking and we may only assume Mystique knocked him out again when they were safely out of the collapsing mausoleum.

**What does Mystique want Kitty to do?**  Again, I thought this was a given.  I'm not going to tell so just wait for the next few chapters to let you know. 

**Why did she pick Kitty?**

1:  Katherine is recuperating from massive injuries and VERY VERY VERY guilty about losing Kurt.  She is the least likely to think straight and ask for help.  She wants to prove to herself that she can get him back, that she isn't a failure.

2:  I could see Jean doing this too, but then Mystique would have taken Scott.  I don't want Scott anywhere near this fic.  He's only going to get a few lines and appearances in the background if **anything.**  Jean just isn't the right character for this part in my fic.  You'll understand why as the chapters pile up. Also, I'm playing on the Kurtty relationship hinted at the point in X-Evo time when this story takes place.  

3:  All I'm going to say is: **EV knows somet'ing dat You don't know! ;-D **

**Gothic Cajun:**

I could have explained the cell phone's appearance better.  I guess the in the same way that backpack got there...hold on.  You just gave me an idea.  Thanks.  I was going to say some little drudge of Mystique's slipped them there when Katherine (Kitty) wasn't looking.  This new idea is so much cooler.  Read on and find out what it is.  (See, I told you nitpicking helped me.)   

There's more and they were helpful but I think you appreciate the update more than a little mention.   


	10. Back to N'Awlins

Okay, this is very late in coming, but the batteries had to recharge.  The dreaded subconscious strikes again!  The mysterious woman returns, but so does Rogue and Remy so you can't kill me.  :-P ... :-)

***

Thief of Spirits

***

Back to N'Awlins

***

            In a motel in Arkanas, Lizzy curled up on the corduroy sofa.  The floor lamp above her head was the only light on in the room, giving her just enough light to read her book and no more.  She laughed at certain parts and cried in others within the tiny circle of light.  There was always more laughter than tears, especially as she neared the end of the book.  As the teenager paged through it, she didn't notice that she read one blank page after another.  For a moment, Lizzy stopped reading the wordless book to look out the window.  Her little light by the couch didn't create too much glare so she could see the summer night. 

            She loved the dark, especially the thrill it gave her.  At home she took midnight walks all the time.  Granted, the paths were on private property and she knew them backwards and forwards, but the faint fear in the back of her mind never ceased to excite her.  Lizzy always half expected something to jump out at her, like in the movies.  

            A voice called her attention away from the night.  "Cherie, how does it end?  Tell moi."  Lizzy smiled at the man sitting on the bed in the deep shadows.  He was older, perhaps late thirties, but seemed very handsome and lively.  She turned the page of the book.  On each piece of paper there was one word.  One was _LOOK and the other _UP._          _

            "Look up?" she asked.  The wind picked up and blew her a few pages forward.  That time it read _YES LIZZY, LOOK UP_.  Lizzy obeyed.  Around her was the night air of home.  She sat on her favorite tree stump, reading by the flashlight hung from the trunk of her favorite willow tree.  The beam fell on the stump, but spread enough that she could almost see the green walls the tree made with its great drooping canopy.  As a girl it had been her secret place, under the ancient willow.  In many ways it still was.  The wind swished through the wall of hanging leaves whispering, "Come outside, Cherie."  

            She laughed and stood to untie the flashlight.  The wind chided, "You don't need dat.  Don' say you scared of de dark."  Lizzy scoffed at the idea and strode through the curtain of leaves, leaving the bright little shelter.  Outside, the forest was darker than she had ever remembered.  It wasn't cowardice if she went back for the flashlight, the girl decided.  She wasn't afraid of the dark, just that she could trip on a root and break her ankle.  

            Lizzy turned and walked back to the willow.  She pushed aside the leaves, but she couldn't walk through the opening to the light.  There was some sort of invisible barrier.  She pounded on it and came away with a bruised wrist.  The voice in the wind spoke behind her.  "You canna go back into your sanctuary, Bella.  You left it for de demon, ma Bella Donna."                  

            "My name isn't Bella Donna," she whispered.

            It laughed, "Neither is Lizzy.  Don't you 'member a'tall?"  A hand grasped her shoulders and spun her around.  Two red fires glowed like beacons, lighting up the sharp edges of his face.  Those terrible flames were his eyes.  She shrank back against the barrier and it collapsed.  The girl fell down to the ground underneath the willow.  She crawled backwards towards the tree and the flashlight.  At the stump, she pulled herself to her feet and yanked the heavy metal flashlight from its resting place in a loop of thick twine.

            Dully, all the old survival training her father had forced down her throat over the years came back to her.  Lizzy covered the flashlight beam with one hand and waited for the man to come through the wall of leaves.  There was a rustling and she saw a pair of glowing eyes.  She aimed the flashlight at the red flames and he screamed.  While he stumbled about, blinded, the girl ran in the opposite direction.  She ran into the leaves and ricocheted back onto the ground.  The strange barrier was back, but now she was trapped inside of it.  The flashlight had fallen from her grasp and she scrambled to pick it up again.  It would make a good weapon if she swung it hard enough.  The demon beat her to it.  

            He went and sat on her stump.  "Bella, Bella, Bella," he chided, twirling the long flashlight like some martial artist with a pole.  The whirling light caught his face with grotesque shadows as he asked, "Why you do a t'ing like dat?  You blinded ole Darien.  But I forgive you, Cherie.  You just a fille.  You canna help bein' stupid."  

            Something pushed Lizzy from behind and she stumbled to the ground again.  The barrier was growing smaller, forcing her towards the demon who called himself Darien.  He flicked off the flashlight and she could only see his demon eyes.  They grew closer and closer until they were on top of her.  He touched her and she screamed. 

            Darien picked up Lizzy and threw her.  She landed on the bed in her Motel room.  No, it was his room.  She had to get out.  The girl ran to the door but it wouldn't budge.  Desperate, she darted into the bathroom and locked the door.  She turned on the light; she didn't like the dark anymore.  There was a click as the lock popped open.  Lizzy tried to hold the door shut but one of Darien's barriers forced her away and herded her into the tub.  The demon strode through the door and smiled at her. 

            "Dere's no getting out Bella.  Don't you 'member?"  He dragged her from the bathtub and she screamed again.  Darien laughed, "Scream all you want, ma Bella.  When we get to N'Awlins, you won't scream no more." 

            "Why," she spat at him, trying to mask her fear at that statement.

            He looked at her, faintly amused.  "Don't you 'member...ah, how could you?"

            "What the Hell are you talking about!"

            Darien dragged his captive out the door to the couch where she had read earlier.  He thrust her onto it and sat back down on the bed.  His eyes glowed in the shadows.  Lizzy trembled under the lamp's dim light.  He asked, "How does it end, Cherie?  Pick up de book an' tell me."

            On the coffee table there was a book.  The words on pages it was opened to were _YES BELLA, LOOK UP._  With a shaky hand, Lizzy picked it up and turned to the last page.  There were no words, but a picture of sorts.  From a black abyss, twin crimson flames glared up at her.  She shut the book quickly.  The title frightened her more than the last page.  

            MY LIFE. 

            "How does it end?" Darien asked softly. 

            She whispered, "You." 

            He laughed, "That's right, Bella.  Your life ended when you met me.  I ended it." 

            The light went out and the room went pitch black.  Twin red flames glared at her and a barrier pushed her towards him...  

            The woman woke up screaming.  The sheets were wet with sweat and tears.  Demon eyes from so long ago stared at her in the dark.  Again she ran to turn on every light in the motel room.  Again she waited for day screaming because no one could hear her.  After a while, her voice grew hoarse and she couldn't shout anymore.  Quietly, she whispered over and over, "I'll get over this.  I'll get over this." 

            In the back of her mind, the angel laughed.  She would never get over it.  For once, though, it didn't try to goad her into its demand.  The woman had given in.  She was heading back to New Orleans. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            "Remy, is it just me, or are there twice as many people as yesterday?" 

            "It just you, ma Petite.  Dere's three times de people from last time." 

            Rogue rolled her eyes.  "Oh, that makes me feel so much better." 

            "Not de social butterfly, are you?" 

            "Does tha word Goth mean anythin' ta you?" 

            Remy grinned at her.  "Yes, Notre Dame Cathedral." 

            "Not tha architecture, tha type of person!" she cried, exasperated.

             "Well Remy t'ink you fit de architecture definition de best.  All dose lovely arches, de sense of awe when you see it, de dark beauty... dat's you ma Petite." 

            "I'm just inta quiet Remy.  Yes, I know we're in New Orleans, but do we hafta jump inta tha loudest group of people in tha world?"  Rogue eyed the large gathering of mutants in the café with dismay.  It looked like a sea of people waiting to swallow her up and drown her.  She looked at the thief leaning an arm on her shoulder, comically taking in the sight.  Remy shielded his eyes from an invisible sun with his free hand and peered into the crowd as if he were trying to find someone.  They stood like that for a full minute while the enormous group watched in amusement.            

            Suddenly, Remy stood on his tiptoes and cupped his hands around his mouth.  In a laughable Old English accent, he cried, "Halloo!  Doth mine eyes spot the fair Princess Caleigh?  Make way good people and allow Sir Remy and his lovely Lady Rogue to congratulate her Royal Highness on this most joyous occasion!"

          The gathering laughed and Remy pulled Rogue through the pathway made for them to a certain little girl.  Caleigh and her mother sat in the middle of the long table against the wall.  There were a few empty seats to either side of them for some reason.  The Cajun deposited his fille in a chair next to Caleigh's mother and took a seat by Caleigh herself.  He smiled at Hannah Laura sympathetically before turning all of his charm on the little British girl.  "Happy Birthday, Caleigh!  Non, non, non.  No frowns today.  Smile for Remy!"  Remy began doing card tricks and other sleights of hand, trying to make the little girl smile.          

            Caleigh didn't buy it.  She watched the flying cards that occasionally exploded but pouted.  Her hair was a mousy brown color that was as lifeless as her expression.  Rogue asked the girl's mother in confusion, "Hannah Laura, what happened ta tha rainbow child?  Shouldn' she be happy if it's her Birthday?" 

            Hannah Laura sighed and took a deep drink of beer.  She looked as depressed as her daughter.  "Matthew, my ex-husband, is coming to visit today.  The bastard really knows how to spoil a special occasion.  He only does it to ruins our lives more than he has already."  Another swig of beer.  The woman stood a good chance of becoming dead drunk by the end of lunch.

            A young boy with bright blue eyes several seats over told her, "This is definitely not the time for you to be drinking, Hannah Laura."

            She glared at the boy.  "Shut up, Jimmie."  The mother jabbed a finger at an older man, cutting off his words before they could begin.  Rogue vaguely remembered him as the man who didn't want anyone to cuss in front baby Mary.  Hannah Laura growled at him, "Don't even start, Kenneth.  I want to be drunk.  The less I remember about today, the better."  She emptied the beer and raised her hand to order another bottle.  

            Rogue could only watch as the two happiest people she had ever met turned into wretches.  Remy kept on trying to cheer up Caleigh with no success.  Hannah Laura chugged another beer.  The teenager stood up and walked over to Allan, the only other person in the group she sort of knew.  The group shifted for her and she sat down.

            "What's goin' on, Allan?" Rogue asked the man quietly.  He looked at her sadly, idly patting his little daughter's head.  Baby Mary was having a ball whirling knives and forks around her at velocities that could puncture steel.  Rogue marveled at how Allan was brave enough to stick his hand through the tornado of cutlery.  She also decided she would never baby-sit the telekinetic infant.  Not for anything.  

            "A little over a year ago HL used to live in England with Caleigh and Matthew," he murmured.  "They were this perfect happy family.  Then they came here for vacation.  Caleigh, the little angel, started changing hair colors and the idiot Matthew lost it.  He abandoned them with no money, no clothing, no lodging, nothing.  By sheer luck, they came into this café.  HL couldn't see anything -she's normal- but Caleigh insisted on coming over here.  I can still remember the look on HL's face when the illusion stopped working and she saw this bunch." 

             A startled voice from the café gasped, "What in the world?"  Rogue looked up and saw a young woman staring wide eyed at the group.  Her mouth dropped open in disbelief.  Judging by the group's reaction, she was a stranger who had just stumbled onto them.  Allan gestured for her to take a seat.  He smirked at Rogue.  "It looked a lot like the look on that lady's face there." 

            "Don't worry, Miss.  We won't bite," he called to the young woman, who looked ready to faint.  "Sit down and let me explain.  I'll even pay for your lunch," The people shifted yet again to let the newcomer drop into a seat.  "Wha...who?" she stuttered.  She looked to her left at the levitating objects around baby Mary and then to the right to watch Remy's card fireworks. 

            Allan laughed and snapped his fingers.  A cup of hot coffee appeared in front of her and she gasped again.  Her eyes seemed almost to pop from her head.  Rogue looked on, amused.  Had she looked like that yesterday morning?

            Rogue stood up and extended her hand towards the bewildered young woman over the table.  "Hi.  Don' worry, I'm not gonna move stuff with mah mind or blow you up.  Just wanna shake hands.  I'm Rogue an' this crowd scares tha shit outta me too." 

            The woman shook her hand.  "I'm Cara," she said.  "What is all this?"

            Rogue laughed.  "I really have no clue.  I'm just stuck with 'em.  As far as I can tell, it's a collection of special people, mostly.  I'm nothin' special, just trapped with Monsieur Card Player over there."  Rogue jerked her head towards Remy.  She looked around, trying to find people she could introduce.  "This is Allan an' his baby girl Mary.  Tha guy in tha trenchcoat is Remy.  That little girl next ta him is Caleigh.  She an' her mom -tha woman with tha beer- are havin' a bad day.  The old geezer there is Kenneth -don't swear when you sit next ta him.  Emmy isn't here right now.  I think tha little boy with red hair and blue eyes in tha corner is Jimmie an' that's all I know." 

            She smiled helplessly.  "My advice is ta learn a few real well an' get tha rest later."  

            Cara still looked shell shocked.  "But how...I mean, I thought that I was..." 

            "...was the only one like you?" Allan finished for her.  "So did most of us until we came here.  You're not the first mutant, that's what we are Miss Cara, or even one of the few.  If you feel confused, don't worry.  You're the second newcomer in a week, the first being Rogue here.  We're just a group of friends and acquaintances who understand each other and our unique problems." 

            Allan looked to his right and frowned.  He snapped his finger and Hannah Laura's fourth beer appeared in his hands.  She glared at him and he looked back unfazed.  Smiling gently, he told her, "Don't worry HL; you and Caleigh can stay with us until Matthew goes home again.  I won't let him bother you, I promise."  

            The man stood and dropped a twenty in front of Cara and another two on his empty plate.  He picked up Mary and went to the drunken mother.  Taking her hand, Allan led Hannah Laura towards the exit.  Caleigh took her mother's other hand and they all walked away.  For a moment, with their backs turned, they looked like one happy family. 

            Rogue looked to Cara.  "Hey, I know its confusin', but these people are all right.  I can promise you'll never get bored or have a quiet moment with 'em.  Please come back..." she paused and shouted over to Remy.  "Yo Homme!  When are you draggin' me here next?"

            "Three o'clock tomorrow!" he called back.  

            "Please come back tomorrow at three.  I need tha reinforcements."  Cara agreed and they both smiled.  Neither noticed Jimmie frowning at Cara from the corner.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

            Lizzy looked out at New Orleans from her hotel window.  It didn't really seem dark, which surprised her.  All her memories said the city was dark and hellish.  It almost seemed...nice.  She frowned and closed the shutters.  She was in New Orleans for a reason.  Silly things like city lights, Cajun food, and friendly people were only distractions from the task at hand.  Lying on the floor with a notepad and pen, she began her list.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Kitty panted on the floor of the train car.  A shadow fell on her and she stared up into merciless yellow eyes.  "I can't!" she cried.  "How many times must I try and fail for you to understand that!"  She was hauled to her feet.  Mystique looked at the girl in disgust.  Katherine was coated in enough sweat to drown her.  Her body shook with the effort it took to stand.  The woman grabbed her student and threw her at a panel of steel two meters wide and a foot thick.  

            Katherine phased through the impromptu wall unharmed.  Her landing was less than desirable, but Mystique didn't care.  She marched to the other side of the steel wall and leaned on it.  She looked at her pupil sprawled over the floor.  "Don't bother to stand.  You are too exhausted physically but you can pass through objects well enough to do what I want.  Truly, you are being childish about this.  Place your left hand on the floor and ghost your right hand through it." 

            She obeyed, but the hand did not pass through the other.  After four more tries, Kitty grunted, "I can't.  Tell me to do anything but this and I will.  I just can't phase one part of my body through another.  It's an all or nothing deal."  

            Mystique sighed, "I really had hoped to avoid this, Katherine.  Do not ghost away from me."  She took Katherine's left arm and turned the hand clockwise so the palm and the elbow faced up, effectively locking the elbow.  Holding the right hand in a viselike grip, she raised it high.  Kitty grew alarmed but held stock still.  "What are you doing?" she whispered.            

            The blue woman replied, "Showing you why self-preservation is such a good teacher or breaking your arm.  You decide."  She drove Katherine's hand into her locked elbow joint.  Katherine screamed.  

            "Open your eyes, girl." 

            Katherine did as she was told and she saw her right arm passing through the other.  "Impossible."      

            Mystique pulled the arms apart before something unfortunate happened.  "So says your brain, but your instincts beg to differ.  Now do it again without the threat of excruciating pain to help you." 

            Carefully, Katherine phased her left index finger through the opposite hand and out again.  That done, she fainted.  

            The blue woman saw to it that Kurt put himself to bed and then covered the girl with a light sheet and propped a pillow under her head.  She yawned and proceeded to her own bed.  It had been a good day's work.  Katherine's real training could begin in the morning.  

***

Who is the creepy Cajun?  If not Remy...then who?  Who is Lizzy?  She's not the Bella Donna of the Assassins' Guild because that Bella met with an…unfortunate accident just before I wrote this fic.  Thank you for the favor, Mystique.  

**_*No problem, EV.*_**

And who is Cara?  Where did she come from?  What's her power?  Why the hell did I stick her in?

Okay, I promise this is NOT a buddy-buddy thing between Rogue and this Cara mutant person.  It's actually sort of tragic.  Just you wait; it will turn all sad and cruel in a little while.  And note the fact that Jimmie doesn't like her.  

Sorry, no review responses this time but I just want to thank ALL readers who have held on this long.  I know I get sketchy and things get confusing, but I'm trying not to give the plot away.  

Just hold on to the madly spinning exercise wheel, little guinea pigs.  Good luck.    


	11. A New Side of de Filles

Okay, I promised three chappies, but I've been taking care of a sick baby for two days straight in a hotel that hates anyone under the age of 35.  Excuses, excuses, I know.  **Don't **feel sorry for me.  I probably passed the germs to my brother anyway.  Please forgive me and accept these two measly chapters.  

If it makes you feel better, the next chapter is a Remy POV.

***

The two mutants had switched trains for the third and final time.  Someone had once told Kitty that taking the train was the most restful way to travel.  He had obviously never ridden with Mystique.

          Training with the blue woman was torture, often quite literally.  An hour with her felt like solid week of one-on-one with the Wolverine.  A six hours straight and then another twelve with Mystique turned the girl into a wreck.  Yet she had made progress, unbelievable progress.  Simply put, Kitty was years ahead of where she had been only a day and a half ago.

          It seemed to be a miracle.  At least the results did.  Her body felt like a thousand curses had been placed upon her.  Katherine supposed there were only two true miracles.  One was that she was still breathing.  The second miracle was that Mystique hadn't transformed Lance into a walking warrior.  Katherine had been shocked when she learned her new teacher had taken in the boy.  At least it explained why he had suddenly shown up in Bayville.  Bayville…

          The girl berated herself for thinking of the past.  She barely even allowed herself to think of Kurt, and he was the reason she was polishing her skills with Mystique, as the older mutant put it.  Katherine herself thought of it as completing torture training.  Kurt, the demonic blue Furbie she could barely stand, had become a friend she would risk life itself for.  What had caused the change of heart didn't matter.  Wasn't it enough that she cared for him now?

          The needle bit in the girl's right arm and she fought valiantly to remain in control.  In and out the tiny bit of metal jabbed.  It was the least of her worries, however.

          Katherine sat on the floor of the newest train car.  There were perhaps twenty steel rods impaling her.  Most of them went through vital organs.  If she lost control, she wouldn't lose tiny chunks of skin and receive only light scars, she would be dead.  The relentless jabbing from the needle threatened her concentration with each puncture.  Katherine desperately wanted to phase the arm out and away from the reach of the pain.  But Kurt…

          The image of the blue boy curled up unconscious on a bed in a metal cell came to her.  All Mystique had to do was throw a switch and deadly gas would fill his prison.

          It infuriated Katherine as she fought to think how a person who could teleport could possible be held prisoner.  It seemed impossible.  No wall could stop him.  After a moment, the Shadowcat shook her head, feeling the coolness of the metal chill her brain.

          What wall could stop her?  What physical thing could stop her?  Nothing, but she was still caged.  Blackmail: that could imprison a teleporter, that could freeze a girl who walked through walls in her tracks.  The only question remaining was: how was Mystique controlling Kurt?  After another moment, Katherine shook her head again.  She was putting too much into it.  Keep a person drugged enough and it didn't matter if they couldn't be contained.  She knew it was very hard to teleport or phase while unconscious, past experience of waking up in the basement put aside.  Even then it had only been during a nightmare when her powers were first waking up.  From what she knew, Kurt had been teleporting for years and such accidents would not occur.  

          The needle stopped.  Startled out of her thoughts, Kitty nearly went solid.  Mystique grabbed the arm that had taken the torture and pulled her from the assortment of metal bars.  Brusquely, the older mutant cleaned off the wound and examined the flesh.  "Yes, I suppose that will do."

          What did she mean by that?  Katherine looked at her arm.  A midnight blue M stared back at her from the irritated skin.

          She looked up incredulously.  "You gave me a tattoo?"

          Mystique ignored her.  The redhead stood and gestured for her pupil to follow suit.  While walking towards the tiny kitchenette in the corner, she breezed, "Of course I did.  Surely you can see that.  Now you know why I told you to keep that arm perfectly still.  Come here."

          Katherine stood but didn't move.  She felt a nerve ticking in her forehead.  Folding her arms, she glared into yellow eyes.  "I apologize, Mystique, Raven, Sensei Darkholme, whoever the Hell you really are.  I wasn't exactly clear before.  What I meant to say was: Why the fuck did you give me a tattoo!"  She felt like a cattle just given the prod, like the poor beast that had become the steak Mystique had forced her to eat earlier.  She was a branded animal line up for slaughter.

          The blue woman quirked an eyebrow, otherwise unfazed.  "To conduct an experiment," she quipped with something deadly in her light tone.  "Come here so I can test the theory."

          Katherine walked docilely towards the monster.  What did a lamb do when her shepherd wanted mutton for dinner?  Did she run away?  Did she attack him?  No, she walked docilely towards the monster.  She paused a moment to mentally kick her imagination, and then walked towards Mystique slowly.  

          "Hold out you arm over the basin."

          Katherine did.

          "Ghost your arm but not the ink."

          Katherine did.  Mystique poured a pitcher of water through her arm and the ink washed away with it down into the sink.  It drained away harmlessly, leaving the girl's skin unblemished as ever.  Her arm was still raw, but it would go away.

          "It seems the term permanent tattoo is a misnomer," Mystique said with a slight smirk.  "At least for you."  Katherine scowled.

          The blue woman led her into a different box car and pointed to a chair surrounded by machinery.  "We'll be spending the rest of the day building an alibi for you.  I believe a large tattoo on the left arm, a spiral around the right wrist and forearm, and something on the back and neck will work nicely."

          Katherine cringed.  "How would tattoos give me an alibi?  Why do I need an alibi."

          "Video cameras, possible witnesses," the teacher replied coolly to her student.  "If the enemy is looking for you, then the less you resemble the wanted picture, the better.  For me, it is no matter.  I simply change my face."  She morphed into a younger Principal Darkholme in jeans and a sweater to cement the point.  She continued her lecture.  "We must be more creative with you."

          Mystique became a Katherine Pryde covered in tattoos with a serious attitude.  Biker Katherine pointed at exhausted Katherine.  "Permanent tattoos Katherine, that is how you avoid getting caught.  They will look for someone with a panther tattooed on her arm: me, and pass this by."  She morphed into sweet little Kitty complete with pink sweater and perky ponytail.  Kitty took off the dreaded sweater and showed off perfect untouched skin.  A small voice murmured wistfully in the back of Katherine's head, 'Like, I wish my breasts were that big.'  

Katherine squashed the Kitty persona.  Silently, she admitted tattoos were a good idea, especially if she got caught red-handed doing whatever Mystique wanted her to do.  Yes, it was, but she rubbed her aching arm.  Mystique –back in blue skin- put a hand on her hip.  "Really.  Will this hurt more than the tomb that fell on you?"

"No," the teenager admitted.

"Then you have nothing to complain about.  The machines will hold your arm in place, so I want you to play with this in the meantime."  She tossed something to Katherine.

Pryde looked down at the gun in her hands.  It was rather heaver.  She had always though a pistol would be light.  Pistols looked light and silly, especially next to rifles.  The seemed harmless.  In her grip, the gun felt deadly.  Mystique went on, "Memorize that position.  The safety is off, the gun is loaded, and it is ready to fire.  Never aim a gun if it isn't set up like that.  It's suicide if you do.  Sit down now."

Katherine dropped into the chair and let Mystique clamp down her left arm.  What do you want me to do," she brandished the pistol, "with this?"  She clenched her teeth as a needle stung her arm.  The arm went numb and she relaxed a bit.  At least she would have anesthesia for her tattoo that time.

"I want you to get used to it, Katherine.  It's a mistake to look awkward with a gun.  A weapon of any kind, for that matter.  A person who looks uncomfortable with a piece of metal death in her hands is forced to shoot to show her resolve.  Something tells me you don't want to shoot."

The machine whirled to life and Katherine felt an odd tickle of her left arm.  She hoisted the pistol up and aimed it at a target set conspicuously into the wall.  "I assume this thing only shoots blanks."

She pulled the trigger and then there was a small dent in the target, dead in the black.  The recoil wasn't very much at all, but her sore arm didn't like it.  Her ears rang a little from the noise.  "I also assume this car is soundproof."

          Even though Katherine couldn't see it, the smile was apparent in Mystique's voice.  "Of course to both assumptions.  You've played with guns before."

          The deceptively simple statement demanded an explanation.  The Shadowcat sighed and slid the safety on, a difficult task with one aching hand.  She looked sadly at the target she had just killed.  She had shot it straight though the heart, just like before.  Quietly, she began to speak.

          "My dad, he's a hunter.  A beer drinking, football fanatic hunter.  He always wanted a boy or six, but mom couldn't have any more kids.  He made the best of it and taught me to hunt instead.

          "It was great.  As you can see, I'm a dead shot.  Dad was always so proud of me.  It really brought us close together in a way most fathers and daughters can't have.

          "When I was little, we fished.  Then we shot birds, waterfowl and pheasant.  Then I finally was old enough for the big game.

          "Dad took me deer hunting in northern Wisconsin.  It was beautiful up there.  The buck was huge."

          Kitty turned off the safety, aimed, and fired.

          "I shot it, shot it dead.  Damn if it wasn't the biggest thing I'd ever seen.  The way it seemed to stare at me, though.  Those eyes looked right into mine and asked why, why would I do such a thing?  I felt sick to my stomach.  I sucked it up for Dad, though.  He was so proud."

          Another shot, another bull's-eye.

          "We went home.  Mom made a sort of celebratory meal of the buck.  I though I was over it."

          She laughed and fired again.

          "I took one look at that meat on my plate and I saw two dewy eyes staring at me.  I saw Katherine Pryde at four years old, asking her Daddy why her doggie wouldn't wake up.  I saw her at age ten, stopping when she saw a nestling that had fallen from its nest to bury it under the leaves.  I saw her when I fired the gun at the buck.  She was the deer and I shot her dead."

          The gunshot accented her statement.

          "I saw Katherine Pryde, her flesh, stare up at me from my plate."

          Katherine leaned back and the tattoo machine moved with her.  "We moved to a different part of the state soon after.  I left Katherine behind, buried under the leaves.  I became Kitty, the perky girlie-girl who would never touch a gun and couldn't stand the sight of meat.  Even then I couldn't forget.

          "For months I dreamed I was running from a hunter, though a graveyard of all things.  I had forgotten that by the time I came to Bayville, can you believe.  It always ended with me in a coffin: mine.  Is that irony?  Jesus."

          Mystique chuckled in a way that could be described as kindly, had the laugher been a different person.  "And the record says you are Jewish."

          "I'm a Jew who believes in Christ.  I sort of relate to him, I guess.  My dream came true.  I'm dead.  Dead to the world and the Institute, anyway, if what you told me about this earpiece is true.  There's nothing holy about me, but I'm a ghost.  I'm not Kitty anymore, she died in that graveyard.  I'm Katherine resurrected from her gave underneath the leaves.  The question is, when this is over, will I go back to my life or stay a ghost?

          "I'm tired of mall crowds and dozens of friends I barely know.  The fits of depression, the urge to seclude myself, I had thought it was just normal teen angst.  Now I just cant' help but wonder if I'm meant to be a Ghost and leave the world behind."

          The machine released Katherine's arm and she studied the Black Panther lounging on her slightly scarred skin.

          "That was fast," she mused. 

          Mystique said plainly, "it's a machine's work.  Technology is fast.  It will hurt like Hell when the pain killer wears off."

          The woman went to the machine and started working at the console.  "Don't," she said, out of the blue.

          "What?"

          Mystique let the machine start on Katherine's right arm.  "Don't seclude yourself from the world.  Listen to yourself.  You have let fear make rash decisions that compromise who you are.  You are compassionate and emotional, but you turn it into a weakness.  Look at what you've accomplished because you care for one person.  That is your strength.  

Lose it and you'll become a specter.  People will fear you, priests will attempt to exorcise you, believe me when I say you will be forced to hide from the world.  You'll watch everything you ever cared about slip through your fingers, leaving only death."

Mystique sighed and walked away.  At the door, she stopped.  "When you arm is finished, begin the exercises I showed you earlier.  Think about what I said.  You still have a life to go back to when this is over."

          The door shut behind her.  Katherine studied the cardboard target.  Numbly, she raised the gun in her left hand and fired.  She looked at her handiwork.  It looked like she had made one bull's-eye, not six.

          "Like riding a damn bicycle," she muttered and threw the gun to the floor.  Her left arm began to bite with pain and the prickling sensation on her right wrist was maddening.  With no shots left, she had nothing to do but wait.  And think.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

          Mystique sat in a chair, studying her child on the computer screen.  "Good morning, my little Echil," she whispered to the scanned cave painting of her firstborn.  She touched a button and the hundreds of renderings of her children began to flash.  She said hello to each, fighting to keep up with the computer's pace.  The images of scanned paintings, sketches, sculptures, and very few photographs cycled so fast that the mother gave up and just thought each name as the renderings went past.

          Finally, the images were done and the last page stayed there.  Mystique smiled at the little blue spaded tail curled about her image's wrist.  She reached out and touched the little girl in the other painting scanned onto the screen.  "You never knew me, my daughter who isn't, my little Southern Belle.  The only thing I ask is that you remember me when this is over."  


	12. De Damned Eyes

            Remy and Jean-Luc walked through the graveyard towards Grandmama Lilly's mausoleum, standing tall and pristine.  The young man thought it seemed to prim and proper for ole Lilly.  Still, it was nice that she was honored like that.  "I don't know why you don't come here more often, Papa," he said to the man.  The King stayed silent and walked into the crypt.  He knelt by one of the tombs and placed a hand on its side.

            Remy shook his head and smiled a little.  "Dat's not Grandmama's tomb, Papa.  She's in de other one."  

Jean-Luc didn't move.  He patted the marble.  "Dis one don't have a name, Remy.  Ever wonder why dat is?"

The prince's brow knit together.  "Why you talkin' like dat, Papa?"

"Answer de question, Remy."

"Canna say I have, Papa.  You tellin' me you know de answer?"

"Yes, son, I am."  Jean-Luc whirled around and hopped onto the coffin, lying on it in a "dead" pose.  Remy grew confused.  Jean-Luc never called him his son.  Papa never acted that theatrical.  The prince looked at his Papa's face.  It seemed even stiffer than usual.

"Father," he said flatly, realizing the truth.  The man looked at him and smiled, the eyes flaking away to reveal red flames underneath.  

"Hello, son," the imposter grasped Jean-Luc's hair and pulled off the mask.

Remy collapsed as his heart burst into flames...

Remy woke with a start.  He put a hand on his heart and tried not to gasp from the pain.  It had only been a nightmare, but it hurt all the same.  He lay back down and waited for the pain to go away.  The clock read four a.m.  The Cajun fought back a groan.  Rogue was a light sleeper.  

He looked to the left at his wife.  The girl lay curled around her pillow like it was...like it was a lover.  Even in her sleep, she looked lonely.  Her hair had fallen onto her face.  Remy reached to tuck it behind her ear.  He barely stopped himself in time.  Remy froze, his bare fingers a scant inch from Rogue's beautiful face.

He snatched the hand back from its certain doom and winced.  The pain in his chest hadn't gone away.  It was real.

Stumbling into the bathroom, Remy pulled off his shirt.  He looked at his chest in the mirror.  He cursed, quietly, so as to not wake Rogue.  The scars had become infected again.  He knelt and dragged out a large box from the cabinet under the sink.  Opening it, the thief rifled through bandages, painkillers, and tubes of ointment, looking for a certain bottle.  He found it and put it on the countertop.  He also took out a bit of clean towel.  After opening the bottle, Remy sloshed its contents -iodine- onto the cloth.  He held the damp towel to the scars and clenched his teeth, commiserating with his poor burnt and burning flesh. 

Remy looked down at the box, full of products promising to soothe all of his little hurts.  He savagely kicked it into the corner.  It crashed into the wall behind the toilet.  He didn't want the hurt to go away; he wanted to feel.  All his life, Remy had fought to feel something, anything besides empty and lonely.  Look where that struggle had got him.  Remy had a father whom he could only refer to as "Majesty," dozens of friends he barely knew, and a wife he couldn't even touch.  If pain, fear, hate, and indifference were all he was allowed, then he would take them with open arms.

The Prince of Thieves went to the closet and pulled out a sweatshirt, gloves, and socks.  After yanking them all on, he climbed back into bed.  Carefully, he took Rogue and held her close.  He felt her breath through the sweatshirt and sighed.  In the complete darkness, his eyes let him see Rogue perfectly.

That was one blessing mixed in with a thousand other curses.  Remy closed his damned eyes and prayed for a moment.  He didn't take much stock in Christianity, Daoism, Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, any of it.  He believed only what he saw with his own two eyes, and he had seen magic, mythical creatures, and spirits in his life.  But every night and morning he prayed for one thing.

_'Damn de man dat gave me my eyes.  Damn "Uncle" __Darien_, wherever de Hell he is.'____

Remy mimed a kiss on Rogue's head, pulled the chestnut hair from her face, and went back to sleep.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Prince LeBeau watched his princess breakaway from him to greet the young woman, Cara, if he remembered correctly.  Remy let her go; the pain over his heart kept him at a snail's crawl.  He took a seat gingerly, making his careful movement seem anything but.

Looking around at the people around him, Remy smiled.  Lists of facts attached themselves to each face, just enough information to fake a friendship and no more.  The only two without mental ink all over their faces were Rogue and her new friend.  He was getting lazy.  A month ago, he would have known everything there was to Cara within two hours of meeting her.  

Remy watched Rogue actively engage the shy woman in conversation.  The lonely look was smothered for a moment.  He would let his little woman tell him about Cara; it would be good for the Belle.  All around, people watched Rogue with interest.  She was charismatic when in a good mood.  That and they wanted to see the girl who had tamed the Player.  Remy knew there were bets on how long the relationship would last.  Only Jimboy knew that Rogue's necklace meant marriage and he didn't bet.  It was the boy's greatest failing, in Remy's opinion.

Jimmie knew everything.  The Universe whispered its secrets to him.  It didn't exactly help that he had no concept of the word privacy and the dictionary had his picture under "curiosity."  Remy didn't understand why Jimmie never used that knowledge.  Oh, occasionally he nudged people around to get them in the best place to be.  Come to think of it, the boy had suggested Remy visit Lilly's tomb, the little rascal.

Still, Jimmy got nothing from using his power.  Even Prim and Proper Kenneth used his mutation for personal gain.  Still, Jimboy was only eight years old.  He would learn better when he grew up, assuming his curiosity didn't kill him first.

And the boy had in nearly become dead when he met Remy for the first time.  He had wandered into Marlin's Café, the mutants' base of operations, when the just gotten on its feet.  Quite bluntly he had looked into Remy's eyes and thought-spoke, _*This is an interesting group, Thief Prince.  Mind if I join?*_

Remy's first impulse had been to take the five year old into an alley and shoot him.  Gambit had been the predominant voice in his head at the time and he very nearly gave into the dangerous mind's demand.  Words like secret and security shouted at him to do it, but it snagged his heart.  He had barely gotten over the Disney World incident; he couldn't bear to kill again so soon, especially a kid.  

Instead, Remy had struck a deal with the boy.  If Jimmie knew so much, he would tell the thief whatever he wanted to know at anytime.  Jimboy was cryptic as hell, but candid and never misleading.

'Jimmie,' Remy called.  'Where's de Arc of de Covenant again?'

The boy smiled at him and replied, _*Where evil's claws can never dig to and sticky fingers like yours will never reach.*_

'Still de Prince of Vagueness, I see.'

_*That's me.  I suppose you want that information on Cara now.* _He seemed a little uptight about something.

Remy shook his head almost imperceptibly.  'Not now, Jimmie.'  He looked around and his eyes popped up half-an-inch.  Caleigh -thankfully perky again- and baby Mary sat between Emmy and Bartholomew.  Between the body borrower's fairy tales and the man's dancing illusions of said fairies, the two kept the children well entertained.  The parents were nowhere to be found.

'Yo, Jimboy.  Canna find Hannah Laura an' Allan, but de Kiddies here.  Where dose two be?'

_*Doin' somthun that needs doin',*_ Jimmie answered, his mental voice muddled up as he chewed a big bite of egg.

            'Cryptic as Hell.'

_*I heard that, Bighead.*_

'You always do, Jimboy.'

Jimmie harrumphed, _*Don't be too sure 'bout that.*_

Remy nearly laughed aloud.  'Oh, don't tell me dat you don't know somethin' you wanna know!'

_*Shut up.*_

'Now there's no need to get cranky Jim...what were we talkin' about?'

Jimmie cracked a toothy grin, minus the two front teeth.  _*Technically, we're not talking at all.  We were having a conversation about where HL and Allan are, though.  They'll show up soon enough.*_

'Cryptic as Hell.'

_*Got that right.  Ah, here they are.*_

Hannah Laura walked in, her arm draped over Allan's shoulder.  They walked close together, too close.  Strange, the two both had a "What goes on in de bedroom stays in de bedroom" philosophy.  HL looked on top of the world.  Remy shook his head.  And people said he was prone to mood swings.

The Cajun wondered what had caused such a change in the depressed woman.  Hannah Laura brandished a zip lock baggie and gave a small victory cry.  There was a small plastic stick in the bag.

'Ah.  Positive pregnancy test, dat explains it.'

_*I told her she shouldn't be drinking.  But did she listen?*_

'Yeah, well.  If you gave her any reason to t'ink you weren't some cute wiseass kid, she woulda.'

Remy looked around at people's reactions.  Ole Kenneth had a face that said, _Is nothing sacred?_  A pretty woman named Moira sighed and actually said aloud, "Damn, there goes another one.  The bachelors are dropping like flies."  Caleigh asked Bartholomew what was going on with her Mommy and the big friendly giant actually blushed.  It was Rogue and Cara that made the thief wish he had a camera though.

It wasn't anything big.  They just sort of looked at each other with slightly agape mouths.  Then they looked at the baggie and then back at eachother, over and over again.  Then Remy noticed the tiny twinge sadness and jealously hiding behind each fille's eyes.  It almost killed the Cajun.  Damn if they both weren't…

*Infertile?  This Cara is, but don't worry.  Rogue just doesn't see how she could ever have a kid.  Broke her heart when she realized what not touching would mean for her plans to have about twenty kids and love each one to death with hugs and kisses.*

'Thanks, Jimboy.'

*Just earning my keep, Bighead.  Go work that LeBeau charm you keep bragging about.*

Remy stood and worked his way inconspicuously behind Rogue.  He wrapped his arms about her waist and whispered in her ear, "Guess, we'll just hafta one up dem with twins, ma Petite.  What do you say to goin' home to practice?"  Her mouth worked for a moment before she regained composure.  In a liquid movement, she snatched away Remy's shades.  Again.  The sudden switch from relative darkness to bright daylight blinded him.  "Not again!"  He squinted and looked around for his fille.  She dangled the shades in front of her and said, "Apologize."  

Remy held up his hands helplessly and shrugged, making a pose out of it.  "Remy don't t'ink he did anyt'ing wrong, Chere."  He waited for a long moment, and then lunged.  Rogue danced away.  Damn if she wasn't getting good at dodging.  If it had been pitch black, he would have caught her in seconds, but the damn light made it almost impossible to see.  He didn't just wear the shades to spare women and small children.  Finally, he could see well enough to move halfway decent.  He kept the ruse going about being blind and kept his eyes mostly shut.  "Why you so cruel, ma Petite?"

"Apologize!"

_*She's not angry anymore, Bighead.*_

'Bout time,' Remy thought to no one in particular.  In a flash, he had Rogue trapped in his arms.  He tilted the fille's chin and looked into her eyes with his own merrily blazing fires.  He found no fear in those emerald depths and silently shouted with joy to any spirits that could hear him.  "Now why you do a t'ing like dat, Cherie?" he said lightly.  He plucked the shades from her hand and slid them into place.

They stood there for a long moment and Remy was tempted to lean in and damn the momentary coma.  Then a collective "Awww!" came from the peanut gallery.  The couple looked at the collection of mutants.  Jimmie had stood up on his chair and conducted the badly timed chorus.  "Ruin Remy's moment, why you doncha!" he berated them.  They all burst into laughter.

Hannah Laura went to put the baggie back in her overstuffed "Mommy Purse."  Allan snapped his fingers and it disappeared.  She arched an eyebrow at his too innocent smile.  "For your sake, that had better be in the nearest trash can, Allan."  He only smiled wider and backed away a little.  "Oh no," she cried.  "Tell me you're not going to do what I think you are."  

"I'm just having it bronzed," the man chuckled uneasily.  As Hannah Laura advanced on him, he knelt and snapped his fingers.  Caleigh and Mary appeared in his arms.  The infuriated woman rolled up her sleeves.  "Don't you dare use them as a shield Allan!"

The little girls giggled.  Very afraid, Allan cried out, "Okay, okay!  You win."  He closed his eyes for a second and the baggie reappeared in HL's outstretched hand.  She stuffed in the bad and then held out her arms.  Caleigh ran into them and she gave her Mommy a hug.  "What are you going to name him, Mum?"

Hannah Laura laughed.  "And how do you know that it's a boy, little lady?"

"Jimmie told me."

The mother ruffled blue hair with ice green streaks.  "Ah yes, the all-knowing Jimmie.  You should stop listening to everything that boy says, Caleigh dear.  He's worse than the boy who cried wolf and Pinocchio put together.  Come on, we have to go forgive Allan now.  He's going to be our new Daddy, a better one than Matthew."  HL pulled out a bandana from the Mommy Purse and expertly bound up Caleigh's hair with it.  Allan took Caleigh's hand when he deemed it was safe enough.  The foursome walked out of the café.  

Rogue, still in Remy's arms, asked him, "Weren't they all depressed yesterday?"

Remy laughed, "Dat's just de way dey are, ma Petite.  Dey live life a day at a time, an' don't let yesterday drag 'em down."  

They had another moment.  

Then someone cleared her throat.  "Oh for de love of..." the words died in Gambit's throat as he saw who had interrupted them.  He looked back down at Rogue.  "Petite, spend de day wit' Cara an' Jimmie.  Sightsee, shop, let Jimboy take you home."  The Prince of Thieves put a finger to his wife's lips.  "Please, just do as Gambit says."  He repeated, "Let Jimmie take you home.  Don't come unless he says its okay."  He stroked her cheek and then sprinted towards the girl waiting for him at the door.  

"What happened," he demanded tersely as they hurried towards the tiny parking lot at the back of the café.  The teenager replied, "Shit."  Remy slid into the passenger seat and barely shut the door before Mell hit the gas.  "Talk to Gambit, Mell.  Put LeBeau in a situation uniformed an' you'll wish you'd failed Knave."  

"You know dat check you put in on Fairfield cemetery?"

Remy groaned, "Let Gambit make a guess.  De results are comin' back to haunt 'im."

Mell checked the rearview mirror.  "Damn straight.  Why de Hell you messed with him is beyond me."

"De Wolverine was just dere, Mell."

She laughed.  "De two bit assassin dat manages to lose his mem'ry every three decades?  No, Gambit.  Wolverine's just de employee here.  You're on de bad side of Xavier, Professah Charles Francis Xavier.  He found out about de check an' traced it to you."

            Gambit racked his brain for anything on a Professor Xavier and found nothing.  'Jimboy.'

            _*Telepath, very powerful.  Prefers seclusion and peaceful ways, but you don't want to get on his bad side.  Believe me.*_

            'Too late.'

            "Why is de pacifist telepath out for Gambit's blood, Mell?" he asked the girl.                 

She looked at him coldly.  "How do two deaths sound?"

Gambit stared, shocked.  "Yeah, dat about do it."

***

 Okay, de Remy chapter is done...damn, I left you with a cliff hanger.  I'll try to get in on resolving it soon.  


	13. De Poor T'ief

I'm back.  **_IMPORTANT._**  FF-Net is on the rampage and I had to delete my little A.N. thing.  The story still goes 1-10 okay, but 11, 12, and 13 are seriously messed up.  #13 is the newest chapter.  #11 (the hated A.N. strike note) is now the chapter after ch 10...duh.  Why I'm mentioning that is because SOME people (aka over 100) forgot to read that chapter and skipped over to the lovely Remy chappie.  **_If you didn't read a chapter about Katherine, tattoos, and target practice; scoot over to "A New Side of De Filles" before you read this._**  Don't argue, go.    

***

Thief of Spirits

***

De Poor T'ief

***

            Katherine Pryde smiled up at Gambit.  A moment later, Kurt Wagner appeared and smiled as well.  "Fooled you," their grins seemed to say.  "We're alive and well.  Fooled you."

            The Cajun tossed the two photographs onto the dashboard.  The boy's image flipped around, but the girl's remained upright.  Her bright hazel eyes stared at him still, a reflection off the windshield.  Innocent, joyous eyes.  Remy suddenly had a craving for a cigarette, and he didn't even smoke.

            He opened the glove department and pulled one from the waiting carton.  Gambit stuck it in his lips and peeled off the thin lambskin gloves he had worn since marrying Rogue and placed them in a pocket.  Out of a different pocket by his left thigh, he withdrew his trademark "knuckle-gloves."  Remy never went barehanded on principle.  There were too many locks that his palm print was the key for and it was too easy to copy prints.  Still, complete, finger-covering gloves kept him helpless.

            Gambit pulled on the gloves, tapped the end of the tiny white stick with a bare finger, and sighed contentedly at that familiar little explosion.  He plucked it from his mouth and watched the embers burn.  As was his habit, he lent the tiny fire energy and then sucked it up again.  'Glow go up, glow go down,' he thought in a childish voice, remembering some cartoon.  If the thief could get his hands on the fuel of a fire, he could play with it.  Most times, it was impossible without receiving 2nd degree burns afterwards, but cigarettes were one exception.  

            'Glow go up, glow go down.'  The stream of smoke from the rapidly burning butt built up on the roof of the car and Mell cracked the passenger window.  LeBeau had forgotten the girl was there.  Remy called all the energy from the little piece of death, putting out the fire.  The little information thief was his responsibility, after all.  It wouldn't do shorten her life as a hacker under his employ.  Gambit shook his head.  Not at all.

            As the smoke cleared, LeBeau studied the half burnt down cigarette.  Funny thing about cigarettes and girls: they didn't last very long.  You lit one, took a few long drags, and suddenly it was spent.  Then you moved onto the next, drew another from the waiting carton and smoked that one down to nothing too.  That fact of life had seemed clear as day only a week before.

            Rogue -and now this Katherine, they seemed...Remy flipped the stick into the air and caught it in his fist.  Those two seemed worth keeping around for a while, or at least Rogue did.  Gambit hardly cared about a dead girl he had never met.  Filles died, they did it all the time.  Allan's wife, his own Mama and Grandmama, those girls...the Bella Donnas, they just burnt out.  Oh, some had been given some heavy drags and gone out sooner, but they all went out.  

            With a controlled toss, LeBeau got the cig between his index finger and his Finger again.  Darien had been a heavy smoker; he had smoked women gone.  He had stripped them until they had no name, no memory, nothing.  Was that what Remy was doing to his Petite?  She already had lost her name, her past.  How long until there was only a lovely white shell filled only by poisons, a damn cigarette?                     

            Remy looked sadly at the pure white paper of the butt.  What would happen when only the shell remained?

            "Gambit, why you kill dose kids?"

            The pretty white cigarette exploded.  The flying pieces burnt to dead ashes.  

The thief removed his shades and slowly cleaned off the cinders.  He placed them in yet another pocket and leaned back in the seat.  "For a genius, Mell," he mused aloud, "you are one stupid fille."  

            His eyes grew accustomed to the change in light and opened his eyes slightly.  LeBeau pulled out the gun from an inner pocket.  Trench coats were so useful that way.  He studied it like he had the cigarette, sliding off the safety after a moment.  "Dis was your sister's pistol.  Her name was...Moira, no?"  Gambit snapped his fingers.  "Name, Mell."

             "Marie."

            The Prince laughed, "Marie, yes!  Yo' sister Marie.  Stupid name for a pretty fille: Marie.  Gambit t'ink Bella Donna suited her better."

            Mell clutched the steering wheel.  "Bastard, you didn't..." 

            The gun was in the hollow of her neck, pressed against her carotid artery.  Gambit imagined for a moment that the gun was checking the girl's pulse.  "Six chambers, five shots left," he stated plainly.  "De first go through Marie's pretty head.  If you want, Gambit can make it a family tradition to die by dis gun."

            Mell glared at him from the corner of her eyes.  "De rats would eat you alive, LeBeau.  Assumin' you didn't die in de car crash."

            "It impossible for Gambit to die in one of his papa's cars, fille.  An' Gambit can afford rat poison."  The thief smiled at Mell and drew the gun away.  "Now, unless you want to become one of dose dead Bella Donnas...Don'.  Be.  A.  Stupid.  Fille."   

            After a moment, the teenager slumped into her seat.  She turned at an intersection dully, without any of her usual debonair flair.  

            The thief returned the gun to a harmless setup and it disappeared back into his coat.  "Dat's Gambit's fille."  He picked up the two thick folders on the dead teenagers and threw them on the dashboard with the pictures.

            "Never give him dis kinda useless shit again.  Get talkin', you wastin' time."

            Mell turned another corner and took a breath.  "Katherine Anna Pryde, young teenager from de Chicago area," she recited.  "Went under Xavier's wing a few weeks ago.  Normal girl, Jewish.  Used to have a huntin' license, but she let it expire last winter.  Nothin'strange 'bout her background.  

            "Dis Wagner, he's de mystery.  Dere's nothin' on him until he got on a plane to de U.S. a few weeks ago.  No record.  From what I could gather, he was enrolled at Bayville High.  Alla Xavier's kids go dere.  De town –Bayville- is a couple of hours from de Big Apple."

            Gambit cut in, "Why were dey in Fairfield, Mississippi?"

            "My guess: dey were lookin' for someone.  Your Rogue or dat Mystique, I don't know.  I don't know what happened in de cemetery, but I do know dat Lilly's mausoleum crashed in on Katherine.  She survived just peachy, got taken home, and then disappeared two days ago.  De Professor can't find de Girl or Kurt.  De boy went missin' in de graveyard.  Dat's de problem, right dere.  If a telepath like Xavier canna find a person, den dey dead.  He finds out you were in Fairfield cemetery 'bout de same time and now he's here.  So now you in shit."

            She stopped the care at the side of the road.  "Dis is yo' stop, sir."  Gambit got out and looked up at the building in front of him.  Going into a hotel at three o'clock on a weekday.  Shit, was he in trouble.

            Gambit walked in and the hotel concierge perked up.  "Monsieur LeBeau, ze Professor expects you in ze Napoleon Suite in five minutes."  The young woman smiled at him.  "Any delay on your part will result in torture," she said brightly in her phony French accent.  Remy stared at her for a moment and then waved a hand in front of her face.  As he thought, there was no reaction.  The woman was just a marionette.  

            The puppet snatched his hand suddenly.  She reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his sunglasses.  "Monsieur, I must insist you wear zis during your stay.  Do not go out of zis hotel without zem.  Zere is no need to draw unwanted attention, no?"  She grinned so wide, it made her face disturbing and terrifying.  Remy began to see why some people were afraid of clowns.  There was something horrible and fake about an overextended smile.  It made the eyes grow bright and maniacal.

            "Have a nice day, Monsieur LeBeau," she beamed.  "If you survive your meeting that is."  

            The woman shook her head dazedly and released Remy.  He hastily covered his eyes with the shades.  After a moment, she regained composure and smiled warmly at Remy.  "Good afternoon, Monsieur.  Can I help you?"

            "Oui...yes.  I must meet a business associate of mine in the Napoleon Suite in approximately four minutes and twenty-two seconds.  If I could have directions and quickly?  It would be best if I weren't late."

            Four minutes and twenty seconds later, Remy was on the seventh floor, rapping on the suite's door.  The door opened and he was dragged inside.  Pinned up against the wall, his feet an easy eighteen inches above the floor, the thief looked down at the feral man he had only seen in old photographs.  The wild mutant had a deadly air about him that no brown and white picture could capture.

            "Put Mr. LeBeau down, Logan," a voice called from deep inside the suite.

            Rather put out, the Wolverine threw Remy clear into the sitting room.  The thief prince took his time getting up.  Why had it had to be in a hotel?  Hundreds of feet off the ground on a deserted floor was the worst place to be in a situation.  Every door was locked and even he needed some time to break a hotel lock.  At least he had a key card was in his inside pocket...

            The key card flew out of his pocket towards the next room.  A moment later, a kindly looking, bald man wheeled into the lounge, examining the bit of technology in his hands.  After a bit of deliberation, the man snapped the card in two.  Remy felt a hand grip his shoulder brutally, just a little too close to the neck.  In seconds, the prince found himself shoved into a chair facing the handicapped person he assumed was Professor Charles Xavier.  The Wolverine -Logan- took a spot standing behind Remy.  

            Remy admitted defeat.  The two had blown his chances out of the water.  He slumped into the uncomfortable armchair.  His shades had gone askew in the rough handling and he reached to put them back in place.  

            Again, the shades flew away.  They were shattered in midair by some unseen force.  "Shit."

            The Professor smiled coldly.  "Yes, that does sum up your situation quite well."

He waved a hand and two photographs found their way in front of Remy.  The first was of Miss Pryde, but the second shocked him a little.  A blue demon looked at the thief mournfully.

            "My students," Xavier said unnecessarily.  "Katherine "Kitty" Pryde and Kurt Wagner.  Both very intelligent and compassionate children with unrivaled potential.  Now that latent talent may never be awakened.  Quite likely, neither will you, come morning."

            Remy didn't bother to hide the fear that the horribly veiled threat gave him.

            "Come now, dis don't have to come to blood."  The thief hesitated a moment and then added, "Sir."

            Charles shrugged his shoulders.  "Yes, I suppose you are right, Mr. LeBeau."  The animal behind Remy's chair made a disappointed sound.

            "I could just reach out and stop your heart," the Professor continued nonchalantly.  Remy winced.  

            Logan laughed.  "I know a few ways ta skin swamp rats without spillin' blood, Prof."  A set of adamantine blades burst through the chair, a bare inch from Remy's face.  "It'll be tough, but I love a challenge."

            "Now Logan, there is no need..."  LeBeau blocked out Charle's next words.  It was pointless, he had recognized the pattern.  The Wolverine was being made up as the man-eating beast and the Professor as the one holding the fiend's collar.  Xavier could either drag the animal away from Remy or sick it on him, depending on his mood.  The thief knew exactly which mood the professor was in.

            Remy stood up abruptly to walk out the door.  Logan was on him immediately.  A second later, his shredded trench coat was thrown across the room and he was flat on his back.  A black boot pinned his chest to the floor.

            Charles shook his head.  "Why did you do that, my boy?"

            Remy replied, "Figured we'd...skip de fancy maneuverin' an'...get down to de action."             

            Logan hauled the Cajun to his feet.  "Fine by me, bub."  Blades shot from his knuckles and Remy backed away.  "Upgrades," he said shakily, then dove to avoid decapitation.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Something troubled Cara.  "Rogue?"

            The girl looked at her new friend, startled at the sound of her name.  Rogue had zoned out yet again.  "Yeah?" she replied belatedly.

            They walked through the street, that boy Jimmie watchdogging them from several feet behind.  Or watching Rogue, rather.  Cara got the distinct impression that the strange little boy disliked her.  Jimmie watched  Rogue and death glared her.

            Cara ignored the holes those disconcerting blue eyes were boring into her skull and smiled at the teenager.  For some reason, the whole group of Remy's people believed his lie that Rogue was eighteen.  It should have been obvious, but they all overlooked it.  They overlooked several things regarding the smooth talking Cajun, in fact.  "This Remy, he's very interesting," she said cautiously.  

            "Yes, well that's one way ta put it," Rogue answered, still a little dazed.  Cara was a little annoyed, but then she thought of how she would have reacted if those blood red eyes had stared at her.  She would have become a shivering mass on the floor.  

            The woman tried another tactic.  "How did you two meet?"

            Rogue glanced back at Jimmie, who kicked at a pebble rhythmically, seemingly lost in thought.  Lowly, she said, "I was in a spot of trouble up north.  Remy dragged me outta it."

            Cara laughed, hiding her uneasiness at that comment.  Sarcastically, she asked, "What, he came in riding atop a gallant white horse?"

            "More like on a bat outta Hell," the girl muttered back.

            Behind them, the sound of pebble on concrete grated at Cara's nerves.  It was a scraping that just wouldn't stop.  "Doesn't he seem a little...intense?"

            "More than you think, Cara."

            "Don't mind my asking, but what do you see in him anyway?"

            Rogue looked away, apparently at a loss for words.  "Remy he..."  Another glance back towards the little boy.  "He's...honorable, in his own way.  Committed."

            "Hmm, sounds like a business partnership," Cara breezed.  "Try again."

            The teenager grew a little flustered.  "I...feel comfortable around him."

            "One: that's a blatant lie.  Two: that's the best friend rep.  You're comfortable with me, not this Remy chap."

            Rogue clenched her gloved hand.  "I can be mahself with Remy.  No secrets."

            "Why won't you just answer the question?"

            "Because I don't know!," she snarled.  "I'm with Remy an' that's all there is to it.  Why do yah even care?"

            Cara stared back at Rogue's glare, shocked.  "Because you look lonely in his arms," she said softly after a minute.  "Dazed, enchanted by those eyes, but lonely.  You don't fit there, with Remy, among these people.  Please leave, for your own sake."

            Rogue glared at her.  "I am an adult an' I choose how to spend mah life, Cara."

            The woman laughed darkly, "You expect me to believe that lie, kid?"

            The scrape of the stone stopped abruptly and they both looked back at an incredulous Jimmie.  "Rogue is eighteen," he said forcefully, as if saying it would make it true.  He caught Cara's eyes with his own shocking pair and repeated the lie.  

            She felt the faint twinge that signaled a headache and glared back at him.  "What is it with you people?  Furtive glances and secrets and the childish idea that I should believe everything you tell me.  You are children!"  She picked up a rock and hurled it into the wall of the deserted alley.  It made an impressive crack against the old brick and an even more impressive dent.  She looked back at Rogue, completely ignoring the boy.  "Come with me Rogue.  I'll take you to my hotel, call your parents, and get you home."  She held out her hand.

            Rogue hesitated.  "You don't understand," she whispered.

            "No, you don't.  Come with me, get away from this Remy before he hollows you out completely.  You still have a life to go back to."

            "I don't have a life ta go back to," the girl argued.  Nevertheless, her leather clad hand crept towards Cara's outstretched one.  The woman felt compassion for the poor girl.  "Are you afraid, of him?  Believe me, I can protect you, get you back home.  Will you come with me?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Rogue stood, watched expectantly by so many eyes.  Blue Boy nodded at her.  He sat on a couch in some living room.  People, three kids and three adults, appeared around him.  All different in every way possible, the group became one family as they talked and laughed silently.  Then they disappeared.  *Go, Rogue.  Family, even one as demented as mine, is priceless.  Don't run from it.*  He sighed and clicked the remote.  The same people from before appeared on the TV screen, but Kurt wasn't with them.  He watched them sadly.

            Matt whispered, *I really liked you, Rogue, if that's what you wanna be called now.  I still do.  So does tha real me, I know it.  Go.*  

            Martin didn't "say" anything, but a heartrending picture of a little boy and his mother appeared briefly.

            The strange wolf-dog just licked her hand, and tried to nudge her real body towards Cara with its mental one.

            _*Don't even think about it Rogue.  Gambit would kill me if I let you go.*_  She started at Jimmie's voice in her head.  She had thought there was something more to the boy after what Remy had said, but not...

            Rogue shook her head, dazed.  She looked at Jimmie and smiled.  "Hey, how 'bout a movie, Jimboy?" she said, using Remy's affectionate term.  She took the boy's hand, not noticing the woman shouting at him as they walked away.  Unfortunately, Jimmie didn't notice Cara either until she bashed his head with a rock, the same one she had thrown at the wall.

            The girl looked from the fallen child to the woman in shock.  "Why tha Hell didya do that!"  Cara looked back with a different sort of shock on her face.  

            Far away, Rogue heard a voice in her head.  Kurt shouted, but it was faint, as if he had been shoved down some deep dark hole.  Slowly, he grew close enough for her to hear him even if she couldn't understand a word.  *...Verdammt ihm, den kleinen Teufel!  Scheiße...*  It went on and on in lightning fast German, or at least she thought it was German.

            Matt appeared as well, apparently breathless.  *I am goin' ta kill that little Bastard.  He tried ta drown me!*  He did seemed a little soaked.  He knelt and tried to work a vicious muzzle off the dog.  The silvery animal hobbled, holding aloft a snapped paw.  

            Martin was nowhere to be found in her mindscape.  She went in on herself and looked for the monster who was just remembering how to be a man.  She found him huddled in a replica of the hallway where they had first met.  He curled up against the wall like that poor boy had.  Rogue put a hand on the brute's knee and he looked up.  Martin's eyes were mournful and absolutely terrified.  He turned abruptly into the small child he had been before Knave destroyed him.  She took the boy in her arms and comforted him.  The landscape shifted and they were back in that green abyss Rogue thought of as her mind's home base.

            Rogue looked up at the boys -and the dog- questioningly.  "What tha Hell happened?"

            Cara answered, switching Rogue's attention back to the real world.  "That little Bastard tried to control you.  Thank God his tricks didn't work on me.  Couldn't get through my skin, I suppose."  She took the teenager's arm, leaving Rogue wondering what Cara's skin had to do with anything.

            Realizing she was being dragged away, the girl broke out of the older mutant's grasp.  "Please don't tell me that mind-hold works when the little devil is unconscious!" Cara cried.

            Rogue went back to Jimmie.  "Of course not.  But we can't just leave 'im here!"  Cara groaned.  She hurried over to the boy, picked him up like a rag doll, and told Rogue to get going.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Remy dodged again.  Wolverine crashed into the door he had been standing in front of.  The door flew open and he fell inside.  Then he barreled back into the hall at the thief.  Remy dodged again, but not completely.  Wolverine gutted his shoulder.  It hurt worse than ten hells combined, but the Cajun could still use the arm so he didn't care.  

            He sprinted though the into the open hotel room and slammed the door.  Remy turned the deadbolt and put on the chain for good measure.  Then he ran.  It would only stop Logan for seconds.  He rushed towards the set of two doors that connected the room to its partner.  Opening the first door he, raised his foot and waited for the perfect moment.  Remy timed his kicking open the second flimsy door to coincide with the Wolverine's first crash at the front door.  Hastily, the thief closed both doors, fully knowing that it wouldn't hide his presence in the room one bit.  Again, any barrier between him and those claws helped.  That done, the prince rushed out of room 743 just as Logan disappeared into 745.  

            Remy ran down the hall as quietly as he could, hoping it wasn't a dead end.  He needed help.  'Jimmie!' he shouted out with his head as he reached a door to a staircase.  Some unseen force -Xavier- froze his hand mere inches from the doorknob.  He was thrown back into the wall and his head collided with the glass case of the hall's fire extinguisher.  Dizzy and stunned, Remy scrambled to his feet.  'Jimmie!' he called again, frantic.  

            **_*Jimmie, whoever that is, could not hear you if he tried, Mr. LeBeau.*_**  The enormous voice made Remy want to scream.  As it was, he clutched at his head.  The pain stopped and Remy looked up in time to see the Wolverine's de-clawed fist knock him clean into next Tuesday.  The weather forecast for that day had been right: 60 degrees, a light breeze, very sunny.  But for Remy it was all dark and very, very cold.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*                            

            Rogue sat in the cab, wondering at the chaos that had become her life.  Cara sat besides her, cradling the unconscious Jimmy like he was her own son who had just dozed off.  The teenager had just gotten used to being a mutant and being in New Orleans and being Remy's wife.  Now she was sucked up into the tornado again and who knew which Oz it would blow her to next?

            She gripped the seat and squeezed the tan leather.  She had just started to think she liked, maybe loved Remy.  Now she didn't know how much the mind controlling freak had made up.  If Jimmie had been under Remy's employ, how many of the others were too?  Were sweet Caleigh and motherly HL just actresses?  It hurt Rogue to think of it.  She just wanted to go home and forget.  

            They got out of the cab and Rogue looked up at the hotel.  They walked through the glass doors and a clerk turned towards them.  She smiled and said, "Excuse me, Mademoiselles, but is your room on ze seventh floor?"

            Cara frowned and nodded.

            "We are sorry, but that floor has been closed off momentarily.  If you would wait in ze lobby."  The clerk stared blankly into space for a moment and then smiled.  "Is there anything I can help you with?"  Rogue and Cara shared a look.  They now recognized what that moment of zoning out meant: mind control.  They smiled back and said no.  They then went straight towards the elevator.  

            In the fancy glass elevator cage, Rogue went to hit the 7, but Cara shook her head.  "Hit the 8," she said.

            One elevator ride and a flight of stairs later, they were in the hall.  They stared at the broken door of 735.  Rogue shrugged, "I guess we were just paranoid.  They closed it off 'cause a thief was in here."  Cara adjusted the boy in her arms to get at her room key.

            "Better safe than sorry," she mumbled, searching through an over large pocket on her pants leg.  After a moment, she triumphantly pulled the plastic card out and plunked it into the slot of 734.  Inside, she dumped Jimmie into a chair and gestured for Rogue to go to the phone.

            Rogue's hand hovered over the keypad, unable to get any closer to the buttons that would take her home.  Cara looked at her sympathetically.  "Should I place the call?"  The girl nodded mutely.  

            Cara punched in the number her friend gave her and waited barely half a ring before someone picked up.  "Hello?" she asked after there was silence for a moment.

            _*Yes, please put Rogue on the line,*_ a voice said, muddled up by heavy static.  Cara stared at the earpiece for a moment and then slammed it back down onto the cradle.  She opened her mouth to explain to Rogue, but she waved it off.  The girl smiled sadly, "I heard.  What do we do now?"

            "Get you out of New Orleans," the woman answered resolutely.

            Rogue smiled more mournfully than she had before.  "I know that, but how do we keep me out of New Orleans?" she said.

            "Sorry, Kid, but yer not getting' out in the first place."  Both females looked up at the burly man in the open doorway.  He strode in and growled as Cara pulled Rogue behind her.  "Move, Bitch," he ordered.  She rolled up her sleeves.

            The man rolled his eyes and barked, "Charles!"  Cara gasped and then promptly fell to the floor.  She was out cold; apparently her skin wasn't thick enough to stand against that Charles person.  He grabbed Rogue roughly by her arms behind her back.  Helpless, she was dragged out the door and through another.  

            She looked around at the destroyed suite.  A fight had taken place there recently or she was a cheerleader.  Martin started to coach her through how to get out of the brute's grasp, but he was suddenly silenced.  All alone, Rogue was led to a chair and gently deposited in it.  She couldn't help but notice the puncture in the chair's back.  She gulped, unable to prevent the concession of her fear.

            "Now, now my girl," a voice from across the coffee table reassured.  Rogue looked at the handicapped men smiling at her, his hands forming a steeple by his chin.  "I have no intentions to hurt you."  The _you_ was so pointed that she wondered aloud exactly who he did want to hurt.

            "Remy LeBeau," he replied calmly, gesturing towards the broken man in the corner.

***          

            Phew, one of my longer ones, but I couldn't bear to cut it off until everyone was happily unconscious and I could give a slightly less cruel cliff hanger.  Wait a second...amend that to devastatingly cruel cliff hanger.  Again, I have made created more questions than I answered.  Don't y'all hate me?  

***

Review Responses (Well lookie here, it's back!)

***

Gothic Cajun:  Allan was going to bronze the pregnancy test.  Basically, have it dipped in metal and then display it on a shelf for eternity.  I would be a little ticked off too.  How did I think of that?  I know a guy who had his first **used **condom bronzed.  Let's just say I didn't stop washing my hands for a week.  (Okay, that's a lie, but I really wish I could have seen all your faces)    

Devilgoth:  My guesses are "Fade to Black" and "Eye of the Beholder."  Then again, "Sad but True" and the "The Unforgiven" could work too.  "Sanitarium" seems to fit Lizzy and (LeBeau/the Prince of Thieves/Remy /Logan's punching bag/Gambit/Rogue's husband/whoever the hell he is tomorrow) a bit too well though.  Oh well, TELL ME THE ANSWER!  

Tokyobabe2040:  Yes, I do write for the pure pleasure (and to spite this idiot Chad who says all art is done for money... nasal monotone speaking, male chauvinist, stuck in the Dark Ages BASTARD. . .sorry)  Anyway, I love all my stories and I just wish people would give them a shot.  I tend to devote more time to stories that are reviewed, so guess, just guess where I have been putting all my writing energy.   

Kazzeh Sodapop:  Did this chapter answer your Xavier question?  If not, I'm taking one more shot at it next chappie

Lonewolf:  My brother is still a baby, so yes, I am basically screwed

AC:  Sorry, I can promise nothing on the tragedy bit.  Several ideas are currently holding audition in my mind and only a few are in the "Romy 4ever" category.  I am leaning towards one such plot at the moment but I never know what tomorrow will bring.                                     

Star_of_Chaos:  Damn you, I did imagine.  Yikes.  Never, never tell a person with an overactive imagination to think about that.  If you didn't know I was afflicted with an O.I., then now you know.  Now I might actually have to write it, but you've seen how I can twist ideas.  Remy = "manic, dark Gambit" is my most obvious example at the moment.  In any case, I'm holding onto the PG-13 rating for dear life at the moment.  Can I write two versions of the same story: one PG-13 and the other R?  I definitely would add some things if that were OK and even change a couple subplots in the R version.  And the ending, of course.  I just can't fight my way through the illegal actions list to figure out whether I can though.  I'm trying but it looks like Latin to me. 

Whew, I'm done.  "Eter...oh please, can't I?  I haven't said it for such a long time."

Hoggle: *Oh, all right!  But don't expect a big reaction.*

"Oh, no, no.  Of course not."  Clears throat.  "Eternity Out."  

Unfortunately, Jareth spots my exit and traps me in a crystal dream.  We dance and he sings about my crystalline eyes.  Hey...that's a **fortunately**.  Gang way people, I have a wish to make regarding my snot nosed baby brother.  How does it go again?  "I wish the Goblins would come and take you away...Damn.  I can never remember that line."  

; -D

(I'm a Labyrinth junkie.  Who knew?)

...Oh yeah.  "I wish the Goblins would come and take you away right now."  The cries from the baby monitor stop suddenly (I'm not kidding)  Shit, I have go check on the baby.  My parents are out of town.  

The keyboard begins typing by itself.  The Authoress rushes up the basement stairs, too much in a hurry to notice.  Unbeknownst to her, the Goblin King laughs in the baby's room, the rich sound coming through the abandoned baby monitor.

_The mouse moves by itself at the sound of its master's voice, sending the girl's final update onto the net.  There is, after all, nothing the King loves more than leaving mortals in suspense...             _


	14. De Mind Games

Hey, it turns out there are computers in the Underground.  Who knew?

***

Thief of Spirits

***

De Mind Games

***

            Rogue stared at the broken, bleeding man in the corner.  Blood spilled down Remy's arm and his face was in pieces.  Rogue turned to stare at the bestial man she knew had done the damage.  

            "Why?"

            He smiled and then lit a cigarette.  "Eye for an eye, blood let is blood owed," he growled simply.  The man began to smoke and Rogue wrinkled her nose.  He smiled again, hefted Remy up on one shoulder, and left the room.

            "If you don't mind, I would like to ask some questions, Rogue, is it?"

            Rogue's attention was pushed back to the handicapped man across from her.  He was obviously somewhat old -and completely hairless, of course.  Still, he reeked of power and joie de vivre.  Damn, the French was sinking in.  The man reeked of power and...vitality.  His smile showed his paternal side, the jaw and nose lent him charisma, but his eyes shone with barely concealed ruthlessness.  There was something comical about a bald man in a wheelchair, but his every deliberate movement spoke of great intelligence.

            In short, the man was a complex jumble of contradictions.  If Remy was any indicator, she was screwed.

            "Do you always switch between sophisticate and childish banter in your thoughts?" he asked casually.  

            Rogue blinked.  Then she glared.  She already had enough boarders in her head, she didn't need peeping toms as well.  It was a violation.  To have that prick rifling through her mind...

            "I'll take that as a yes," he said.  The dotard was unfazed by the more graphic and less verbal parts of her thoughts.  His strong eyebrows creased, revealing a bit of cruel anger in his eyes as well.  

            "The word _dotard_," he treated the word as a disease, "defines an person whose mind has liquefied with age.  I assure, that is not the case with me.  Do not use that impressive vocabulary where it does not fit."

            Rogue smiled.  "I thought _dotard_ fit perfect."  She rested her elbow on the chair and propped up her tilted head lightly with a few fingertips.  She watched the amusing sight of an older man on the verge of staging a tantrum.  He stopped suddenly, realizing what she was doing.

            "Your trick of controlling people through their emotions will come to no end with me," he stated coldly.  Damn, those eyebrows were expressive.

            The teenager lifted her head off its fingertip pedestal.  "Actually, it's workin' just fine.  Really Dotard...Mush Mind," she allowed a grim smile at his reaction to that one, then continued, "stop usin' fancy words.  I only think 'em an' people can _actually_ understand mah speech.  Yer lofty words can't turn me inta a droolin' toddler, so cut tha crap."  She began to idly toy with one of the wedding rings on her neck.  It was the larger of the two.  There was a sort of engraving on the inside.  She would check it out later.

            "So," she gestured with her hand, "what's yer name?"

            "I really don't think my name matters in this, my girl."

            Rogue rolled her eyes.  "All right, I'll just hafta call you Mush Mind, then."

            Those eyes did another flash of rage.

            "Go ahead.  Spill tha name beans, Mush Mind."

            "Professor Charles Francis Xavier," he said finally, as if there were something prestigious and noble about that particular name.

            The girl laughed, "Nice ta meet you, Professah Charles Francis "Mush Mind" Xavier."  She stood up and walked towards the minibar.  A door opened and the wild man appeared threateningly.  Rogue leveled her gaze at him.  "Go back an' keep on beatin' my unconscious husband, Kitty."  His hair did look like a cat's ears after all.  He growled fiercely.  Whatever she had said really must have struck a nerve.

            Rogue ignored them and knelt in front of the tiny refrigerator.  It was locked but Remy had taught her a thing or two in the last few days.  Of course the damn necklace lock was a step above anything current technology could break, but she could dream, couldn't she?  She pulled a hairpin from a jeans pocket and after a few seconds, she opened the door.  That lock had been cheap.  After a little deliberation, she pulled out a can of coke.  Then she tossed a bottle of beer towards the brute.  He caught just a little too easily.  Alcohol and the man had a longstanding relationship it seemed.

            He held out a fist and a blade sprung out of a knuckle.  It didn't cause Rogue much discomfort.  After Remy and his friends, it took a bit more than that to scare her.  She suddenly became aware of the chill of the necklace's metal on her throat.  Adamantine, had she heard something about adamantine blades somewhere?  The girl ignored it and smiled.  The blade punctured the bottle's cap and the man raised it to his lips.  Mid swig, she said sweetly, "Drink up.  Maybe it'll make tearin' apart a helpless boy seem like a fair fight." 

            The bottle whizzed by her ear, slamming into the wall behind her.  The glass of the bottle shattered and the mirror did one of those amazing spider web breaks.  Rogue asked innocently, "I'm sorry, don't yah like Sam Adams?  I can getcha a Guinness."  She turned and admired her distorted image for a second.  "The maid isn't goin' ta like that.  Then again, she won't be too hot 'bout those shredded drapes either, Kitty."

            Rogue popped the can and took a slow sip of Coke, letting the two men get a hold of their tempers.  A shattered reflection of Kitty stalked back to Remy's room and slammed the door.  With the little killer out of the picture, she turned around.  She was a little surprised to find Xavier directly in front of her, but she let it slide.  She turned around again and reached to the left side of the counter for one of the towels waiting there.  When she had cleared enough beer and glass shards off the ruined counter over the mini-fridge, she hopped on and looked down at Mush Mind.  

            Nodding towards Remy's door, she said, "Kitty's got a temper."

            "Actually, she had quite a sweet nature," he replied.

            "That _brute _is a girl?"  Rogue laughed so hard, she nearly fell of the counter.  

            "That man is Logan.  Kitty was a girl that was just killed."

            Her giggle fit stopped short.  Then she shrugged and leaned back onto the spidery mirror.  Mush Mind was bothered by some girl's death, but Rogue didn't have the energy to care at the moment.  Taking Jimmie with her and Cara had sucked her day's compassion dry.  It was sad and all, but there was nothing she could do about it, so why bother?  She didn't exactly have a reason to comfort Mush Mind and...Kitten anyway.

            Rogue skipped over the topic and asked, "So...why am I here?"

            "Kitty, and a boy named Kurt, both died a few days ago.  Kurt was murdered in Fairfield cemetery five days ago."  

            Rogue remembered when and where she had met Remy.  She decided she didn't like where the Prof was going.  

            "Kitty was nearly killed when a Lilly LeBeau's crypt crashed down on her."  

            Definitely did not like where it was going.  

            "She disappeared from my mind's reach two days ago.  That only happens when a person leaves this world, one way or the other."  There was something behind that statement.  Rogue didn't know what, but there was.  Still, she was a firm disbeliever in aliens, so she ignored it.

            The teenager looked to the closed door.  "So you think Remy's got somethin' to do with it?  Where's tha proof?"

            Xavier shook his head.  Damn, he was wearing that "poor ill-conceived child" expression.  She hated that one.  "My dear, if you had any inkling of the reputation the LeBeau family holds in some circles..."

            "Where's tha proof.  I..."  Rogue paused.  She would not say 'I wanna' like the toddler he treated her as.  "I want to know what Remy did, if he did anythin'.  Yeh see a monster an' I see a poor lost boy, or at least I did before.  Give me proof or get outta New Orleans."

            Mush Mind bristled at her blunt demand.  "You do not realize the situation you are in, child."

            Rogue learned forward sharply and glared into his harsh eyes.  "No, _you_ don't.  You harm a hair on my head an' there will be a price on your bald one.  Now, we can work this thing out peaceful like or I can goad Kitten inta attackin' me."

            Xavier looked up at her, surprised.  "I thought you would have leapt at the chance to get out of this waking nightmare.  Ten minutes before, you were."

            Rogue was surprised as well, but she shrugged.  "I root for tha underdog.  Ten minutes ago, that was me.  Most times these past five days, it's been me.  But I'm **not** tha one beaten bloody unconscious for no apparent reason, now am I?  But hey, give me proof that Remy had a knowin' hand in those kids deaths an' I'll help ya kill 'im."

            She waited for the silent man to open his mouth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Jimmie shook his head, then winced.  He gingerly touched the lump of bloody hair and bruised bone and rather wished he hadn't.  He looked around and the universe eagerly ran to him, each particle fighting to be the first to tell him what he had missed.  Sighing, the boy opened his mind and let the knowledge soak into his mind.  A woman in Montana was beaten by her husband.  The injuries would permanently disfigure her face.  A boy in Vermont sat down to write an essay.  That A- would carry him to Harvard and then Capitol Hill one day.  

            Hannah Laura shook her head at Allan's display case of metal covered baby booties, pencils, and flowers.  She snapped the pregnancy test in two and threw it in the garbage, muttering about bronzing Allan's manhood.  Her baby's father looked on mournfully, realizing that he wouldn't get any for nine months.  

            The baby itself was cute, in a deformed pink reptile sort of way.  He would be 6' 8", have his mother's red hair, have the sort of muscles bodybuilders drooled over, and be completely normal.  There was no mutant gene in his body, even a recessive one.  It was Allan's fault, really.  It was one of those little known genetic facts, like the one that the male determined the gender of his baby.  Jimmie wished he could have told Henry VIII that and then took a photo of the King's face.  

            The male also determined whether a baby would be a mutant.  Jimmie wished to God he could have told Hannah Laura's ex Matthew that.  The idiot blamed HL that their Caleigh was a mutant.  That would be funny if it weren't so sad.

            The knowledge just kept on coming, and after a while he was able to tune it out for the most part.  Only his immediate surroundings told him anything.  Jimmie looked towards the Napoleon Suite and shook his head.  He had really dropped the ball on that one.  He looked at the unconscious woman on the floor and grimaced.  He had never caught Cara's ball to begin with.  She was a complete mystery to him, this black void in the middle of a universe of pure light.  The boy rubbed his poor head.  He hadn't even seen her coming.  

            Jimmie had to trust his own eyes that the unconscious woman was actually real.  He hated that.  Actually, that was a lie.  He could see her through anyone's eyes.  He had seen the way Rogue saw her as a friend and Tom, the Grecian ladies mutant, saw her as a conquest.  Jimmie couldn't find Cara, though.  She had a physical body and some surface thought and instinct, but no mind.  He just couldn't find the thing, find Cara's presence.  It had thrown him for a turn.

            And now look where it had landed him.  Rogue was skating on extremely thin ice and Remy's life was hanging in the balance.  Jimmie lay low, hoping Xavier would be concentrating too hard on Mademoiselle LeBeau to find him.  He thought frantically, trying to think of a way he could help without being found.  When he thought of it, he groaned and thought even more desperately for another way.  But he couldn't.  Outside help was out of the question.  He had to go inside.

            _Jimmie walked into the world of green light that was Rogue's mind.  Stealthily, he crept towards a solid metal door set off to one side.  He hesitated for a moment, and then waved a hand.  The X on the door morphed into a J.  It swung open for him and he walked into the darkness._

_            The boy knew the wolfdog was coming, but it still would have nailed him if its roar hadn't warned him.  Some bit of stored knowledge informed Jimmie that Lycanthropes had an impressive kill roar.  Sometimes he really hated knowing everything.  He sidestepped the blue mutant as it dropped down on him from the ceiling of the cell.  **"Now hold on!  I didn't trap you this time.  Xavier did."**  Jimmie sighed a little when Kurt's transient mind held up a three fingered hand.  Matt held onto the werewolf.  Jimmie turned around to look up at Martin, who towered over him, looking down coldly.  _

_            That had been a close one.  _

            "Talk," Kurt ordered.  "Why are you here?  What is going on out zere?  We vere in Cara's hotel room and Rogue's Aunt Irene knew Rogue was next to Cara.  I was about to tell Rogue it maybe didn't mean anything, denn Matt, Lupe, and I were shoved in here.  Martin managed to dodge, but he was caught too.  He didn't notice enough to tell us anything."

            Jimmie looked up at the German.  **"Your English has really improved,"** he commented.  Fangs a little too much like Lupe the werewolf's were bared.  "Answer ze questions, Teufel."

            **"The Devil doesn't exist, Kurt.  Believe me, I know."**  Hastily, he went on, **"Xavier thinks Remy killed you and Katherine Pryde.  Rogue is caught in the crossfire"**

            Kurt nodded, but Matt shook his head.  "Whoa, back up here, kid.  Who's Xavier and Katherine, and what tha Hell is this place?"

            Jimmie answered, **"This is a mental prison, a creation of Xavier's.  Its sort of like that ocean I threw you in."**  The southerner glared.  His hair was still damp and he reeked of brine.  The eight year old went on to avoid a confrontation, **"Xavier, Professor Charles Xavier, is a mutant.  A very powerful telepath."**

            "Like you?" Martin asked.

            Jimmie laughed**.  "One: I'm not exactly a telepath, and two: no one in this world is more powerful than Xavier when it comes to the mind.  Those that aren't in permanent comas, that is."**  

            Kurt quirked an eyebrow.  

            **"I'll explain the coma thing to you if the situation comes up and not before," **Jimmie said.  To the others, he continued, **"Katherine -and Kurt- are...were students of Xavier.  They disappeared a few days ago."**

            Kurt said sarcastically.  "Yes, I'm missing so I'm automatically dead.  I don't think ze Professor would fall for zat."

            The little boy shook his head.  **"Let me try to explain this.  People, they have...a presence.  Have you ever felt someone behind you?  Not their breath or the heat of their bodies, but "them?"  This presence is sort of a combination of their mind and the impact they have on the universe.  Xavier can find that first one.  If he can't find that mind, then the person is either out of range or the mind just isn't there anymore.  When Xavier uses his Cerebro...a machine that amplifies his metal powers, he can search the whole planet.  He can't find Kurt or Katherine, so they're either dead or they're brain-dead.  Believe me, they're dead."**

            "And how do you know?" asked Matt, absently petting the werewolf.

            **"Remember what I said about presences?  There's more to it than the mind.  People touch the world and the...oh I call them particles...they get filled up with knowledge about the person.  I can sense that.  If I try, I can talk to a mind like it was a bunch of those particles.  I can give those particles, that mind, knowledge or take it away."**

            Martin cut in.  "So this explains how you can make people forget and make me relive..."  He shuddered and looked away.  Jimmie felt a twinge of regret.  He had overlooked the fact that these were real people in the universe of Rogue's mind.  He had treated them like collections of knowledge that he had every right to manipulate and even delete.  

            **"Yes.  That explains it.  Anyway, that's my mutation.  I can read that knowledge and manipulate it.  Sometimes.  I couldn't change the real Kurt's hair color, for example.  That knowledge is locked away in his DNA.  Think of it as a read-only file."  **

"So there's nothing you can't find if you look?" Kurt asked a little dejectedly.  "I'm really dead."

            **"The body and mind you came from, yes.  Kurt's presence died in Fairfield cemetery.  Katherine's disappeared in the Bayville Mall.  Bayville is the town Xavier and his students live in.  Can we please move away from the real Kurt being dead part and move onto the you being killed shortly part?"**

"What!" the minds around Jimmie collectively shouted.

            **"Rogue is out there, trying to outsmart Xavier.  Forgive, but she's an idiot.  She's doing pretty well, but the Professor's temper will snap and then she will die.  Kurt, think of the kind man you know as a mask done up over the original Charles.  Have you ever thought of how he lost the use of his legs?  Xavier was crippled in a death match with his best friend.  He has never been a stranger to death and has no qualms about it.  Why do you think he employs the Wolverine, a Killer over a century old.  Yes, he is that old.  He came into his mutation in England in the year 1888 and quite violently too.  Again, back to Rogue.  I need something to buffer the Professor's temper.  Kurt, she could really use a little ghostly intervention here."**

Kurt stared at Jimmie, slowly realizing what the boy had just said.  "What are you going to do?  
  **        "Patch you into Rogue's motor functions and vocal chords.  If the real me is not disturbed, I can manage it.  It's just rerouting information streams.  I've spoken through people before; it's really not all that hard."  **Jimmie "blinked" and they were in a replica of the Napoleon Suite's living room.  Kurt sat on the countertop over the mini-fridge, facing an illusion of Xavier.  The little mutant gestured for the others to take seats on the collection of couches and chairs.  

            The werewolf sniffed about and went to a closed door.  Lupe scratched at it with a small whine.  Jimmie smiled sadly.  Leo, the real world version of Lupe, really felt loyal to Remy.  There weren't a lot of places in the world for half-breeds. Remy had made a place for the misfit.  Like so many others, Leo was eternally indebted to the Prince.  However, the half werewolf was one of the few that actually realized the act of godly compassion LeBeau had bestowed upon him.  Most of the others, like Mell and Rogue, resented Remy.  They didn't understand that he had saved them from worse fates.  Lupe, as a strange copy of Leo, felt the same intense loyalty to Remy.  He wanted to save his Prince, even if only in a make believe world.           

**            "Just lie down, Lupe.  We're going to save Rogue now so she can save Remy for real."**

            Lupe dropped down onto the floor against the door.  It may only have been a wolf-dog mutt, but it was intelligent.  Jimmie sat down on the table.  **"Okay, I'm going to patch you in.  Whatever you do in here will happen out there.  We'll all see and hear  what happens and try to coach you through anything if you need help.  I'll help in the knowledge department.  If it comes to physical blows, let Martin take over.  If Xavier attacks, I'll try to block him out.  I've never gone up against a telepath, just avoided them.  Here goes nothing."**

Jimmie clenched his teeth and the frozen image of Xavier came to life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*                             

            Kurt opened his eyes, really opened his eyes.  It wasn't just some projected action from his mind; it was real.  Actually, it was Rogue's eyes he opened, but it felt the same, if a little more sexy.  He looked down at his slightly disturbed Professor.  He looked up and saw Rogue, or at least her mental projection.  Matt was madly holding her down while she tried to kill Jimmie.  A small laugh escaped his lips.  The feminine sound reminded Kurt of what was going on and he looked back at Xavier, trying to ignore the comedy going on in the living room.  

            "Professor?" he asked, trying to make it sound as fuzzy dude-like as possible.  "Professor, it's me."  Maybe it was the accent, but Xavier actually did a double take.  Kurt barreled straight into it, trying prevent that moment when the Professor dismissed it as an act.  "Professor, is it true?  Is ze real me dead?"  

            Jimmie slapped his forehead, but the Blue Boy ignored it.  Xavier was too smart to actually think Kurt was a ghost.  The mental copy story would have to do.  "Professor, is ze real Kurt dead?"  He kept it to simple questions that wouldn't cause much of a reaction.  

            "Yes," the answer came sadly.  

            Kurt's face twisted sorrowfully.  The news from Jimmy hadn't really been enough.  He had no reason to trust the boy.  But the Professor...

            "You think zis Remy dude killed me?"  Dangerous waters had been entered.  Kurt marveled at the rage barely confined in the man's eyes as he nodded curtly.  "I didn't know you could get zis angry.  You were always so forgiving and kind."

            Xavier blinked, the anger sliding away a bit.  Jimmie said, **"He's cooling down.  Keep working on that temper.  I'll tell you when he will listen to reason."**  Kurt fought the urge to nod and kept going at his mentor, the man that had taught him it was okay to be blue.

            "Scheiße, what sort of Hell is zis?  I'm dead, Kitty's dead, it was just supposed to be a damn recruiting mission.  State our case, give ze offer, and go home.  I want to go home, Professor."  Kurt pulled his legs in and hugged them as he used to do when he had a body.  He wrapped his tail around his wrist, or at least the mental him did.  There was no real tail on Rogue, which was a shame in his mind.  Rogue would have been hotter if she had a tail.

            There was a sort of outraged female sound and Matt laughed, "We heard that one, Kurt.  I'd watch mah thoughts  if I were you."  Kurt blushed, feeling the burning sensation.  It was different without fur.  It felt so much more obvious and embarrassing.  It still felt good.  

            Looking up, Kurt asked.  "What is vith you und Herr Logan?  You've just gone mad or something.  It's scary."  He stood and leapt over the Professor.  It was strange without the sticky pads most people called toes, but he managed with his usual flair.  The more he acted like Kurt, the better.  

            He rubbed his fingers, all ten of them, together.  He tried to move each individually but it was exactly like his hologram hands.  Basically, he was forever doing a Vulcan "live long and prosper."  

            "How do you work zese things?"  He tried to move just the smallest finger, but the ring finger kept moving with it.  Then a little invisible tug pulled the "pinky" away from its partner.  "Oh, danke."  Kurt found he was able to copy that strange feeling and started to move each gloved finger on its own, with lots of mistakes.  An impulse overtook him and he placed both hands together and prayed like he had always wanted to.  He clapped the hands together and pointed his fingertips towards heaven.  No matter what Jimmie said, there was a God.  Just once, he wanted to pray in the way that God could hear.  

            'Let this damned thing have gone to Heaven.'  

            A tear fell down his face and he put his hands at his sides.  Even crying felt good without fur.  The tear rolled down a bare cheek, telling the world that he was sad and not just wet.

            **"He didn't hear that,"**Jimmie reported.

            Kurt glared at the boy.  "What makes you think I prayed to Xavier?" he snarled.  He remembered where he was and looked at the confounded Professor.  Ruefully, he smiled, "There's a regular peanut gallery in here."  He pointed a finger at Rogue's...the real Rogue' head.  He was proud that he managed to point with only the pointer finger.

            He put the hand down.  "I'm just going to be blunt.  Don't kill Rogue."  Lupe leapt to his feet and hissed rather like a snake.

            "Or Remy," Kurt added hastily.  He didn't like the idea of getting even furrier and chasing his tail on full moons.  Lupe snorted exactly like an indignant horse and lay back down.  Was there any animal sound that thing couldn't make?  The werewolf looked up again and deadpanned, "Baa-aa-aa."  

            Kurt dissolved into laughter; he couldn't help it.  The closed door that Lupe guarded opened and Wolverine stepped out.  "What is goin' on out here, Baldy!"

The not so blue, not really male Blue Boy stopped laughing immediately.  He had the most insane urge to port away from his wild looking teacher.  Kurt desperately fought against the instinct; he had this feeling that if he tried to port, he would fart.

            Rogue made an outraged noise and advanced on Kurt.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Logan looked incredulously at the terrified girl who backed away from some nonexistent threat.  He looked to the professor, silently asking what to do.  Frankly, Charlie looked just as confused as he did, possibly more.  They both watched as the girl dodged some invisible foe until her back was against the wall.  She pleaded at the air, "Please!  It vas only a thought, I didn't actually..." she yelped and cringed.  A moment later, Logan and Xavier stared at  a very memorable puff of sulfur smoke.  After a quick sniff, Wolverine found her pressed into the corner...where the wall met the ceiling.  Legs and arms splayed out, she held her position for dear life.  Then she blinked and looked down.  She stopped pushing against the walls and dropped gracefully to the floor.  The landing was very familiar.

            "Fur Ball?"

            The girl looked up.  "Herr Logan!"  

            Herr Logan threw up his hands at Charlie.  In five days, Kurt had gone from being almost too alive to MIA to dead.  If there was some chance he was suddenly in a girl's body, he wasn't the one who was going to figure it out.  He jerked a thumb towards Mr. LeBeau.  "Don't suppose Kitty's goin' ta come out that door with red eyes and a Cajun accent...thought so.  I'll be in some bar 'cross the street."  He stalked to the door, pulled a jacket from the closet and left the suite.

            The man decided to take the stairs.  As he walked, he growled softly.  New Orleans was insane.  Every time he visited, something...  Logan stopped mid step.  He had never been to New Orleans before, had he?  He rummaged in his mind for anything.  Green liquid, faceless doctors, and pain.  He found nothing.  Disgusted he gave up and continued on his way to a bar.

            In the lobby, a young woman behind a desk asked if she could help him.  He shook his head at her and walked out through the resolving door.  He smelled familiar scents in the spinning glass circle.  There was that girl and Mr. LeBeau, but someone else as well.  Try as he might, he couldn't place that scent.  His mind told him it was Kitty, but he forced the thought away.  She was dead and he was hallucinating.  

            He broke away from the hotel, fighting his instincts.  They told him to run, but the man told him that was stupid.  If you ran, you got caught.  You didn't have to do anything wrong, they would blame you anyway.  They had before, why not now?  Logan stopped and searched his head.  He came up only with an image of a woman's lips, no face or chin or nose, just the lips.  They were stained crimson with some sort of paint.  They were stock still, as if the woman they belonged to was asleep.  He tried to remember more.  Liquid metal, blood in the water, pain.  

            "Lips," Logan whispered, trying to remember what lips had to do with anything.  He shook his head and walked down the street, following his nose towards the beer.  When he had learned that alcohol killed brain cells, he had become even more of a drunkard than before.  He kept hoping that maybe the next beer would kills the cells that remembered the pain.

            Logan rubbed his knuckles with his fingertips, feeling the thick grooves plated with adamantine.  His hands grew cold and he put on a pair of gloves.  Looking down at his hands, he decided to buy a pair of gloves that weren't black.  The LeBeaus favored them and he wanted nothing to do with the LeBeaus.  He found the bar and walked in.  

            Wolverine frowned when he saw the girl.  He walked up and sniffed discreetly.  Sure enough, she smelled young.  He sat down at the booth across from her.  He didn't really know why, but the instincts and the man both agreed that he should.  They never agreed, so he followed their orders.  

            He looked at the kid who tried to ignore him.  She was sad.  The emotion rolled off her.  It smelled a bit like chamomile and burnt salamander skin.  Logan didn't know why he cared.  Maybe coming out of the recluse life to work for Xavier was the culprit.  He was stuck with kids all day, trying to teach them to survive.  He had failed miserably.  Twice.  

            "Hey, you okay?"  Logan didn't know what he was doing.  He was just setting himself up again.  If she was a runaway, there was a good chance she would disappear into some alley next week and never make it out.  Despite that fact, he kept on.

            "Don't make beat it outta you, Kid."  The man winced at his words.  He'd always been harsh and frank, but since when did he go out of his way to act so cruel?  The answer stared at him: a pair of hazel eyes and a pair of pure yellow.  

            Kitty and Kurt, they had been the younger ones, the innocent twosome.  Scott had lived on the streets and Jean had been institutionalized after wandering in the woods for weeks.  They had survival skills, even if they chose to hide them.  Kurt and Kitty had been dreamers and now they were dead.  It was his fault.  He'd had weeks to knock it out of them -the gullibility- but he hadn't.  He'd set himself up for a fall and fallen hard.

            "I'm not homeless, if dat's what you t'ink," she said.  

            "Then why are yeh in a bar lookin' all alone?"

            The girl glared, then shrugged, "Maybe I'm a drunk."  She downed a shot to make her point.  Logan felt an urge to kill the idiot who had sold her alcohol, but suppressed it.

            "I don't doubt _that_," he replied, eyeing the used whiskey glasses crowded onto the table.  "How long you been here?"

            She glanced at a watch.  The expensive timepiece bristled his senses a bit, but he squashed them.  It was the twenty-first century; kids owned all sorts of pricey things and treated them like trash.  "I don't know," she said after a bit.  "Maybe an hour, probably less."  She raised a hand, but Logan snatched it and put it down before a waiter could react.  That a bar that only served drinks had booths and waiters angered Wolverine a little.  Most things did, but that was just wrong.  

            Maybe he would have appreciated it himself, but when he put a young teenager in the role of the customer, it was sickening.

            "If yer not homeless, then get home before yeh die of alcohol poisonin'."  She pulled her hand away and he grabbed it back.  She glared and he glared back.

            Finally, she looked away.  "Fine, I'll drive home."  She stood up and wobbled a little.  Logan was up in a moment, leading her out the door.  Outside, she growled, "Let me go or I'll shout rapist."

            Logan laughed, "You don't think I am one?"

            She rolled her eyes.  "De pervs don't go to work 'til after five, Homme.  Early birds, dey ain't"  The girl broke away and headed down an alley.  She pulled out a set of keys and walked to the driver's door of some foreign car.  She beeped the doors unlocked and reached for the handle.  She opened it.  Logan pushed the door shut again.

            "You're not drivin' drunk, Kid."

            She made a face, then pulled out a cell phone.  She dialed a number, waited a bit, then said, "Hi.  Yeah, it's me.  I need you to come to Malley's.  Dis guy won't let me drive home.  No, I'm not lettin' him drive me.  He's not a perv, just some responsible dick stickin' his nose where it don't belong.  No, not _there_.  Yeah, I'll stay in de car.  I parked in de alley.  'K, see you den."

            She beeped the phone off.  "Dere, you happy now?  Buzz off."  She got in the car and locked the doors.  Logan watched the car as he walked away, checking to see she didn't drive off.  He sighed and left the alley.  He didn't know why...how many things didn't he know the why for?  Just about everything.  Logan felt better, plain and simple.  He'd probably saved a girl's life.  But how many girls would it take until he stopped feeling guilty for Kitty?  Ah, that was something he did know.  

            He would stop feeling bad when he could go back in time and save Kitty from death.  Until then, there would be guilt.    

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            The girl slumped down in the car seat.  She lost control and her heart began to pound ferociously.  Why had it had to be the Wolverine?  She whispered, "Take it back, Mell.  Dat two-bit assassin is more frightening den de Professor, easy.  God, Gambit, get outta dere!"  She looked at the cell in her hand.  A faked phone conversation wouldn't bring him back.  She considered actually calling him, but that would cause trouble.  Gambit would kill her if she messed him up.  He would kill her if she left.  

            God, she wanted to leave though.  Mell wanted to drive all the way home at ninety miles and hour and skid into the damned garage.  She wanted to run through those underground halls and up the five flights of stairs like a gold medal Olympist.  She wanted to get in her little closet of an apartment and lock the door all ten ways and then prop a chair under the doorknob.  She wanted to hide under the covers of her incredibly tiny bed that still took up way too much space.    

            Hell with it, she wanted Marie.  She wanted her big sister to hug her and make the world go away until she felt better.

            Mell realized she was ranting and absolutely paranoid.  The drink did that to her.  Gambit would beat her if her knew she drank and smoked.  The idiot thought she kept cigarettes in the glove box for him.  She immediately reached over and lit a stick.  Unlike Gambit, she actually smoked it.  It didn't matter to Mell that  it would kill her, Gambit would beat the cigs to the chase.  

            He wouldn't kill for smoking, but there would be blood.  That's why she did it.  She wanted to hold off the day that he killed her for as long as possible, but she still wanted to defy the bastard.  He had taken her, taken her life and turned it into a sick joke.  She remembered the seventeen year old who had pinned her to the wall.  "Eye for an eye," she sobbed.  "Blood let is blood owed."  Five years ago, Gambit had forced her little hands together and forced her to repeat that terrible LeBeau oath.

            Mell opened her eyes and looked down at her folded hands.  Every night, at every damn meal she had to say those words as if in prayer.  He knew, somehow he knew when she had not said them.  She tore her hands apart and struck the steering wheel.  The horn didn't sound.  She wanted it to.  She wanted it to scream because she couldn't.  A LeBeau's fille didn't scream.  Unless you were a Bella Donna.  Then you screamed until you were dead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Wolverine sat on the roof of Malley's bar.  He watched the car, waiting for her driver to come.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Xavier sat.  Of course he sat, what else could he do?  He listened to some copy of Kurt from five days ago as he tried to explain what had happened using Rogue's body.  As far as the boy could tell, Rogue had touched him and he was suddenly stuck in her head.  At first, Xavier had assumed the girl had killed Kurt, but it seemed she only put her victims in momentary comas.  Still, that little assumption taught him something.  He was grasping at straws, desperately trying to find a scapegoat for Kurt and Kitty's deaths.

            Xavier glanced at the mirror Logan had destroyed.  A broken reflection of himself glanced back.  Both men looked away quickly.  It was rude to stare at cripples.  

            Part of him paid attention to Kurt, but most of his energy was turned inward.  Part of him relived that encounter with Eric.  Magnus had killed those men, heartlessly.  There had been one former Nazi left when Charles had found them.  He tried to explain that the man had just gone along with the war to avoid persecution, but Eric hadn't listened.  They had argued for hours while a terrified man watched, tied to a tree by an iron bar.  Then their tempers had blown and the fight had begun.  It had only been blows, no powers.  That had been their rule, from the beginning.  No powers to win the chess game or win the race.

            Then the metal pole flown through the air and almost impaled Charles.  An all out war had erupted on that bit of German turf.  It was worse than the wars that had ravaged countries and destroyed populations.  It was worse because two best friends had fought to the death, unleashing powers more frightening than atomic bombs on each other.  

            It felt like years that their war raged on for.  Then Xavier had made that fatal mistake.  He stopped a piece of shrapnel from gutting the man caught in the mutants' crossfire.  He was hit from behind.  That time, Eric had succeeded in impaling his best friend with the metal pole.  

            From there, it had become a vicious war between Charles and death.  He tried so hard to hold all the blood in and keep himself alive.  Hours later, people came to investigate the screams and shouts they had heard.  The people had been terrified to come until then, the poor things.  

In the hospital, the doctors kept saying it was a miracle he had survived.  There had been no such "miracle" for the non-mutant Xavier had been trying to save.  A thousand bits of metal had been stabbed into him.  The worst, a metal bar, had been driven through so hard that it was stuck in the tree.  Years later, Charles had visited that spot.  The bar had still been there, exactly at the height of a man's heart.  He had pulled it out telepathically and buried it deep under the ground.  His friendship with Magnus deserved a decent burial he had supposed, seeing how it was dead.  There, he had promised not to let another person be killed.  That innocent man who had just been forced into the wrong position one time to many didn't deserve to die.

A little part of his mind took the image of that man pinned to the tree and gave him glowing red eyes.  Xavier marveled at it.  Wasn't what he was doing just as Eric had done?  He blamed all Nazis for the murder of his parents that had he had been forced to watch.  Later, he blamed all non-mutants for the misguided actions of a rotten few.  He blamed them rather than face the facts.  Xavier would rather blame this Remy, who he only knew was a LeBeau, than face the fact that maybe he was to blame for his students' deaths.  Maybe he could have done something, but he didn't and they were gone.  

At least Kurt still existed in Rogue's head in some fashion.  If Charles hadn't acted rashly and lashed out, the copy might never have known his real self was dead.  The boy could have been truly carefree like he deserved.  Xavier could accept the guilt for that.  He needed to go.  He reached out with a hand, wondering whether he should just let them all forget.

_*Don't do that.*_   Charles started at the small mental voice.

There was a knock at the door.  _*Let me in, please.*_

He opened the door and a small boy walked in.  He had ruddy strawberry blonde hair and the most amazing eyes.  "Please don't make them forget," he begged.  "They'll blame me for the lost hour in their lives.  I'm in enough trouble as it is."

Xavier looked at the boy, slightly amazed.  He had never seen mental shields anything like the child's.  They more like screens than anything else.  He felt...something constantly passing through those screens and something else being kept away.  They were useless for blocking telepathic invasion, but they were impressive none the less.

The boy somehow understood what Charles was thinking without using telepathy.  "I put in the shield because I was tired of the universe telling me the speed of light twenty times a second.  I don't like being told the same thing twice, but the universe doesn't care.  It just keeps shoving it down my throat.  Please don't erase their memories.  I have a bad reputation for doing that and it's a lot worse than they think.  I'll never be sit down again without pain as it is."

Xavier put down his hand.  "Very well.  I'll just have to live with this terrible moment of weakness.  I shall never fully understand how I sunk that low."

"I'll explain it to you sometime, if you'll let me visit."

He laughed.  "Why, aren't you the all-knowing brat."

_*That is one of my favorite nicknames, believe it or not.*  _

            ***_I believe it.  Visit any time.*_**

****The boy blinked.  _*Wow, your voice is bigger than mine.*_

_            ***Of course.  I'm older.  I am Professor Charles Franc...Charles.  My name is Charles.***_

****_*Jimmie.*_

Xavier laughed aloud as the elevator took him to the lobby.  **_*Ah, so you are this Jimmy.  I had wondered what was so important about you.  Not very much, I see.*_**__

****_*You.  Are.  A.  Bighead.*_

Xavier shook his head as Logan helped him into the passenger seat of the car.  As they drove away, he smiled."At least he didn't call me Baldy."

            _*Don't be too sure I won't...Mush Mind.*_

_***_

Whoa, that was long.  Do not expect another one like this anytime soon.  

Um, that wasn't very good.  I tried.  Xavier and Logan acted rashly in grief and now they are going home, leaving Rogue and Remy alone in a hotel room.  Well, almost.  Hey, what about Cara?  She's going to be mighty confused when she wakes up.  Sigh, I guess someone's mind **is** going to be wiped.  

And what is going on with Mell?  We'll find out later.  Before anyone asks, she is the baby sister of the assassin who tried to kill Remy in Disney World.  You know, the one that Remy killed.  No wonder she hates his guts.

***

Review Responses

***

Well, there aren't going to be many, but here we go

^_^ :  Glad you liked the dark Charles.  Unfortunately, I think I broke him this chapter.  Prof is stronger than Jimboy, but he's older.  Only time will tell.

Forgotten Havok:  Oh dear, people must really be confused now.  Forgive me.  At least it was humorous in places...I hope.     

Devilgoth:  Well shoot.  I really wanted to win the prize!  There was a prize, right?  Did I update fast enough?  Well, Charles didn't really turn out as the evil old man, just a human dotard...I love that word...sorry.

Turquoise:  Carrie = Charles...okay.  I'm seeing the professor in a dress with blood dripping down his bald head as he floats around killing people.  You are **so **right, he **_is_** Carrie!  I'm not ripping on you.  It was just such a funny image I had to share it.  Yeah, the heart thing was more of a threat that he _might_ be able to do if he put his mind to it (pun intended).  Then again, if he can levitate objects and control minds as easy as breathing, why couldn't he just reach in and stop the heart from moving?  Anyway, it scared Remy to death and that was the point.

Star-of-Chaos:  I checked it out.  Cool!  Anyways, Xavier didn't bother to read Remy's mind.  Remy does have some powerful shielding on volatile information, like passwords, etc.  But why would Knave pay to guard his son's mind in general?  He just doesn't care that much, sad to say.

Lara-belle:  I like "Upgrades." too.  Did it sound too Matrix-like?  It just occurred to me that Neo said something similar in the 2nd movie...damn.  Well, does that explain the Xavier thing?  It was really bad.  I can't do old people.  Apologies to the elderly, but I just can't do it.

Lonewolf:  Question.  Do you like Lupe?  ...sorry.  Of course Rogue stays with him.  This story has yet to begin.  Yes, I know that sounds weird but believe me when I say I love you...wrong tragedy.  Believe me when I say I have a long ways to go before I get halfway to the climax.  I'm STILL setting up the scene, can you believe it?      

Okay, so there were a few.  Ciao...oh why not. 

Eternity Out.   


	15. De Gambit's Family

Aaaand...I'm back.    

***

Thief of Spirits

***

De Gambit's Family

***

Rogue looked around testily at the assemblage in her head, reserving the most scathing look for Kurt.  And Jimmie, how could she leave that little bastard out?  

"Someone please tell me what just happened," she said with a snarl that rivaled Lupe's.  It surprised her a bit when the animal sound came from her own two lips and not in the mind.  She blinked, with her own two eyes, and everyone in the room disappeared.  Save Jimmie; he still sat on the damn coffee table.  The girl briefly wished that the glass would shatter and somehow cripple him in the process.

She winced.  A month ago -nay- five days ago, she never would have thought such a thing.  Maybe it was the water.

Jimmie laughed and Rogue bristled, then forced herself to relax.  The boy watched her intently -warily- waiting for her to speak.  She thought of Cara, the incident in the alley, and the way she sometimes went brain-dead near Remy.  Ah yes, Remy.  

She looked sadly at the door where the dog had lain, where her husband lay within.  

Finally, Rogue thought back to only an hour before...had it only been that long, an hour, maybe a bit more?  An hour ago, she had been eating lunch among new friends.  An hour ago, she had thought she loved Remy.  An hour ago, she had believed in innocence.  Now it seemed that everyone was a betrayer, just biding away his time for the most hurtful moment.  

"Jimmie..."

"I'm sorry."

That sob shot her dead out of the water.  The boy, the little boy, covered his piercing eyes with his hands and began to cry.  The sound was heart wrenching and she had taken him in her arms before she knew what she was doing.  God, that position was getting familiar.  All she seemed to do anymore was cradle scared little boys.  

Carefully, Rogue held Jimmie's head to her heart.  Then she realized who was in her arms and nearly recoiled.  What was she doing?  He was the enemy!

Rogue froze and almost laughed at her thoughts.  Enemy?  She could hardly call a frightened eight-year-old her enemy, especially next to Knave and the old Martin and Gambit.  

Gambit...Rogue shook her head, trying to destroy the memory of duct taped hands, a straitjacket of sheets, and paralyzing crimson eyes.  It did no good.  Instead, her imagination kicked in and told her what could have happened if things had continued down that path.  

She shuddered.  Jimmie shivered as if in response.  Rogue sighed and shook her head.  "Jimmie...Why?"

Yes, why.  Why had he wiped her memory and fiddled with her mind?  

"I 'ad to," came a muffled sob.  

Rogue pulled the unwilling child from her sweater and looked into those incredibly blue eyes that were now rimmed with red.  

"You had ta?"

He nodded.

She smiled, a little exasperated.  "Yes, well what does that mean?  Why did you hafta, Jimmie?"

"Gambit."  

Rogue winced.  How very much _that_ explained.  The mutants at the café only knew Prince LeBeau as Remy.  She doubted they even knew his last name.

"Now how'd you get messed up with this Gambit fella, huh?"  

"Too nosy.  Can't keep my mouth shut."  

Rogue couldn't help but laugh.  "All little kids are that way, Jimmie."

**_*'m not little, Rogue.*_**

"Stop that," she demanded, a little too harshly.  "An' of course you're little.  I'm no giant myself, but you fit in my lap an' not tha other way around.  So you know Gambit."

"He's gonna kill me."

The teenager's mouth worked for a moment.  "Jimmie, you gotta stop feedin' me one-liners like that.  You'll turn all my hair gray."

"White, your hair will age white," he said offhandedly.  "But not soon.  That full head of chestnut hair is gonna stick with you for a while."

"Assumin' I live that long: a while," Rogue retorted, a little depressed.  "Gambit might do me in too."

"Nuh-uh.  He'll kill anyone, everyone but you."

Well that was flattering.  Then again, there were fates worse than death.  She went on, trying to drive said worse fates from her head.  "So, what'd you do that's so bad?  Besides brainwash his wife."

Jimmie pointed to the door.  "I let this happen to him and he knows it.  He called -I think, screamed for me and I didn't answer."

"You were unconscious."

"Don't remind me.  Should've been keeping an eye out, paying attention to the important things."

Rogue began to stroke his hair, but stopped when she found the terrible, sticky bone bruise.  "You're 8.  Gambit can't expect you ta be on top of things."

"Mell's been working for Gambit since she was eleven.  He's beat her up lotsa times, for almost nothin'.  I hadta tell on her."  Jimmie looked away for a moment, his gaze going through the wall to study something.  "I don't wanna tell on her, but I have to."

She shook her head.  "Why?"

The neon blue eyes turned to her.  "Gambit's my Dad."

It was lucky Rogue hadn't been carrying him; she would have dropped him.  "What!"

Jimmie wormed his way out of her arms and walked to the curtains.  He parted them and looked down to the left at something.  "Gambit adopts a lot of kids.  Me, Mell –though she don't know it, Leo as a brother...you."    

Rogue frowned.  Jimmie talked about Mell twice in less than a minute.  "Who is Mell?"

He laughed, turned to let her see his twinkling eyes, and then looked back across the street.  "The girl who took Gambit away.  You'll meet her soon enough.  Inevitable.  She's gonna take you two home in about three hours.  It will be safe then."

Rogue shook her head and Jimmie turned, somehow knowing she had silently disagreed.  She glared at him, but then his eyes shimmered and her own pair unfocused.  "Rogue, you're a strong person, but you don't know when you're out of your league.  This isn't high school; you push someone in this world and not only will he push back, he will destroy you.  I'm tired.  I could very easily warp that mind of yours so it acts and talks like Rogue, but is terrified of leaving Gambit's arms.  It would certainly make my life easier."

Some part of her knew what was happening, but her body was frozen and her mind listened to the boy's voice with rapture.  "You're nice.  You should get to go to high school, have a boyfriend who lays you for Christmas, fall in love for real and get married, birth twins that cry all-night duets, that whole thing.  Won't happen.  You're stuck here like me and Mell and misery loves company.  Make the best of it, at least he loves you.  We're just convenient."

Jimmie walked to the front door.  Putting his hand on the handle, he stopped.  "You love him too, though I can't imagine why.  And Rogue, either Cara won't remember what happened today or you won't see her again.  I'm sorry."

He walked out the door.  It was very quiet in the room.  She wondered where her boarder-minds were.  She couldn't even feel their presence.  Rogue went looking around.

In her head there was a sort of door set against one wall.  The lovely wood had a J engraved into it.  She opened it and Lupe leapt out, knocking her flat.  He immediately began licking her face.  She shoved the rude thing off of her. 

The next person walked out more slowly.  Matt smiled at her, "It's nice in there.  Feel free ta visit."  He took Leo's mind by the scruff of the neck and led it back inside.

Rogue smiled too when the door shut.  Privacy was a wonderful thing, even if it was granted by a little beast.  She put a hand on the J, and then opened her eyes.  

It was confusing to jump between her mind and the real world.  Everything was confusing.  Mutants, why she couldn't touch, how Aunt Irene had known she was there, Gambit's whole world...she didn't understand any of it.  She could get by, follow along like an innocent lamb, but the questions plagued her.  Everyone was so cryptic, like it was illegal to say anything outright.  

That's why she liked Cara so much; the young woman was straightforward.  She saw what needed to be done and did it.  Rogue hoped she was okay.  Remembering Jimmie's words, she shuddered.  She hoped even more that Cara would stay okay. 

The girl got up and walked to Remy's door.  There, she opened it and peeked into the dark room.  Remy lay on the floor, broken, but breathing and no longer bleeding heavily.  She shut it and went back to the lounge.  He would wake up and she didn't want to deal with him until then.  She needed time to think.

The mini-fridge sat under the counter, waiting.  Rogue was tempted to just take a beer, but she held off.  Alcohol reminded her of Xavier's wild man.  Where had they gone?  At some point during Kurt's romp with her body –that sounded plain wrong, Mush Mind had fallen into deep thought.  He stayed like that for a long time, then disappeared.  He had been there and then the world popped and he was gone.  There, pop, gone.  

Rogue shivered.  It had only been with her mind's eye, but it had been disconcerting.  She'd seen people teleport before and that hadn't been a teleport.  Kurt left a trail of smoke and Allan's victims glowed for a split millisecond before going on their merry way.  Xavier just went gone, like he no longer existed.  

She smiled.  _That _was wishful thinking.  If only people did just wink out of existence.  Rogue had a very choice list of which people, too.  They would all disappear, one by one, until there was no one left to block her way out.

But did Remy belong on that list?  If the right people disappeared, would the Gambit disappear forever and leave Remy, the person Jimmie said loved her more than anything?  The person he said she loved?  

Unfortunately, no one would disappear and Rogue had only one choice.  She could stay and deal with the madness or run.  If she ran, how long would she last until she was dragged back?  Long enough?

But if she ran, it would be Gambit who gripped her chains and pulled her to him.  The Remy she knew was so fragile, it would be broken forever.  Only the monster would remain.    
Why had he married her, this girl he knew he could never touch?  If the real Remy had made the choice, then it was love.  The player would have done it as a challenge, turned her into a conquest.  But he hadn't tried anything, so she doubted it.  

The monster, he chose her as a tool or a toy.  Rogue didn't know which was worse.  She curled up on the couch.  The necklace curled about her neck, cold as always.  Remy had said it belonged to Lilly.  Until she died.  That was the kicker there.  When the old one died, another Belle wore it.  If Rogue died early, next month for example, would Gambit just find another girl and lock it to her neck too?  Was Rogue that other girl?  Had there been someone before her that Gambit called Petite?  

It was chilling to think and she tried to push it away.  As always, the attempt failed.  She and Kurt had fought to convince Xavier that Remy hadn't killed those two kids.  By judging times, she knew he couldn't have done in Kurt and carried her off at the same time.  And he'd never known that Kitty person.  He hadn't even known about Lilly's tomb crashing in.  

Rogue shivered, thinking that could have been her under all that rubble.  But just because he hadn't killed those two or had them killed didn't mean he hadn't killed before.  There was that girl in Disney World, for example.  No one knew anything about that except that he had killed her.  Gambit's private life was damn near unknown, except that he was a player.  How bad a player had he been?  One that didn't take no for answer?  He certainly hadn't given Rogue any choice.  He'd barely given her a reason and a lame one at that.                

A set of strange noises came from the hall and she went to the eyehole.  A workman went by with a roll of wall paper and then another with wood paneling and another with wood varnish.  She cracked the door and watched the men repair the extensive damage the "fight" between the wild man and Remy had caused.  They worked quickly and silently, like robots.  In a few hours, all evidence of the incident would be gone.  Rogue wondered if Xavier had sent them.  Whoever the person responsible, he wanted very much to keep the incident a secret.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jimmie knelt in front of the fallen Cara.  He touched her face and found out she was real, if he could trust his hands.  He listened for breathing and found a pulse.  It had been disconcerting not to know if she was alive.  

Alive...yes, that was the void he felt.  Cemeteries had that kind of void, at least they did six feet under.  Corpses were just bags of rotting matter; the universe didn't care about them.  The universe was alive and the dead were not part of it.  Not that graves were entirely voids, but Jimmie was too squeamish to listen to the chatter of maggots, so they might as well have been.  

He placed a hand on the woman who universe said was dead.  Was she a ghost or had her mutant abilities done it to her?  Whatever the reason, it meant he couldn't find her mind.  Unfortunately, Jimmie had to find her mind and alter it or she would die shortly.  

The boy remembered the conversation with Gambit on that one.  People who knew too much died, plain and simple.  If Jimmie didn't want them to die, he fixed their memory.  Annoying and inconvenient as Cara was, he didn't want her to die.  Jimmie could erase memory, he'd learned how to a few months after Remy had adopted him.  A person who didn't know anything wouldn't die.

Unfortunately, Jimmie couldn't erase hard information like the computer files Mell made up for Gambit.  Gambit read his file once a week, locking Jimmie as his adopted son and dirty worker.  Jimmie rubbed his arm, remembering the first time he had tried to make the prince forget him.  Gambit wasn't stupid.  He pieced the story together.  Then he smashed Jimmie's arm into pieces.  Jimmie knew the young man hadn't meant it, but it still scared him straight.

Then things got bad and he tried again.  The second time, he had left no loose ends, no trail of incriminating bread crumbs.  He got out of New Orleans and headed all the way north to Minnesota.  Jimmie latched onto a barren couple and became their kid.  Then the grocery trip.  Gambit had learned from past mistakes and kept a little "reminder" about his son.  Jimmie had gone to get some milk for his "mom" and a man disguised as a clerk had dragged him into the storage room.

Jimmie hadn't been so aware back then.  He had to concentrate to find anything.  Finding Remy in the café had been pure bad luck that never ceased to haunt him.  He had never seen the kidnapping coming.  

Jimmie rubbed his head absently.  _Some_ things never changed.

The man-for-hire had slapped him into a crate and shipped him south.  A day and a half later, Gambit tore the top off the crate.  Jimmie had slunk down, but the wood and metal bars began to glow and then he couldn't get out fast enough.  It had been bad, real bad.  Bones hadn't been broken, but his "dad" had better control than before.  

That had been the last "lesson."  There were threats, a whole lot of threats, but Jimmie had learned how to hide his tracks.  With time, it turned into a sort of playful relationship, but the threat was still there every time the boy stepped out of the little box Gambit had put him in.   

Some part of the boy knew it was better than being homeless, like he had been before Gambit.  Still, it chafed and he wanted to be a normal kid, even a normal mutant kid.  Like Caleigh. 

It was funny, but Jimmie was in love with the girl.  He was old enough -he knew enough, rather- to know he did.  She would grow up so kind and cheery.  She would be so beautiful.  Her nose would be too large and her skin would mottle with age, but she would be beautiful until the end.

The sad thing was: Caleigh would grow up and be a rainbow lighting the world while Jimmie...he was LeBeau.  If not in blood, then in name.  He had seen his path and saw it led into darkness, away from rainbow painted skies.  So far, Remy had held him an arm's length from the LeBeau world, but he had already let Mell fall in.  How long until Jimmie was submersed too?  

And Rogue, how long would she last until she became Lilly?  How long until she started to use her ability to manipulate people's emotions skillfully and selfishly?  The old matriarch had done enough damage.  The last thing the Thieving world needed was another Madame LeBeau pulling the strings.

Jimmie sighed and put his hand on Cara's forehead.  After a deep breath, he dove into the void.  He would either find a mind or become lost in the Dark.  

After half an hour of flying through nothing, he found it.  He was so surprised, he almost lost it again.  The tiny sphere floated in the very center, connected to the void by so many threads of darkness.  The boy fought his way through the black tangle to the glowing shield.  Then he put his hands out and passed through the light.

Inside, there was a blue-violet abyss, like the green one in Rogue's mind.  This was the real Cara, hidden so deeply in the darkness, surrounded by it.  Jimmie closed his eyes and got the feel of her mind.  Cara was a military kid, had grown up on a base.  She had wanted to join the army, but the accident –that's what she called her mutation: the accident- it had destroyed her dream.  It hadn't seemed fair to the normal people.  She was a fair person.  

Cara was a drifter, but she relied on no one.  She always did the odd good deed.  She didn't deserve to die.

Jimmie held out his hands and cycled through her most recent memories.  Remy's eyes had frightened her out of her wits.  He could hardly blame her; they did that to everyone and the terror never really went away.  You could hide it or overpower it, but it was there.

She had been so worried about Rogue's muddled behavior.  Jimmie had just dismissed it for what it was: the beginnings of love, but Cara hadn't seen it that way.  Looking through her eyes, the teenager had seemed mesmerized.  When Rogue had been unable to answers Cara's questions about Remy, the woman had expected the worst.

Then Jimmie had made the goof.  He'd ignored her and tried to take Rogue away.  It would have worked; he could have fixed Rogue not to remember Cara at all and let the woman fade out of the picture when she saw she couldn't do anything.  He hadn't expected such a...violent reaction.  

It didn't matter, Gambit was alive, Rogue was finally processing that she _was_ stuck with Remy, and Jimmie had reached Cara's head.  No one had to die.  

He looked once more through wood and concrete to where he knew Mell sat in her car, drunk and smoking.  No one had to die, and Jimmie wanted to make sure he was the only one who would get hurt when Gambit woke up.

***Mell, they're comin' out 2 hours, 23 minutes at the earliest.  Go in and get a few strong cups of coffee.  It won't do anything towards getting you sober, but it will get the stink off your breath.  Get the smoke out of the car.***

Jimmie smiled at her face, even though he couldn't really see it.  ***I won't tell on you, just don't get caught.  I'm in enough trouble already, I don't need Gambit thinking I'm holding back information.***

"Who are you?" she whispered and Jimmie shook his head.  How in the dark was Mell, really?  Death threats from Remy set aside, she had the most sheltered life he had ever seen.  She lived in the LeBeau complex and never left unless on a job.  Openly, anyway.  Mell had been visiting bars and other sleaze joints for years.  

People never said anything; she was LeBeau.  And no one dared tell Gambit anything about it.  Knave had made sure of that.  Jimmie disliked the King with a passion.  The bastard had so many shields on him that the boy never had the faintest idea what the man was thinking.  Jimmie hated being in the dark.  

Why Knave showed such an interest in the girl was beyond him, but it was something that he truly did not want to think about.  The relationship between those three was a nuclear weapon.  If he nudged it the slightest bit, it would be sayonara.

Fortunately, Jimmie didn't have to deal with it.  All he had to do was fix one woman's head.  He focused on one question.  _"What do you see in him anyway?"_

He grabbed hold of the memory, millions of intricately knotted threads, and it came undone.  Then came the hard part.  Bit by bit, he tied the fibers into the form of his choosing.  When he was done, the boy tapped the center of the geometric spiral.  The taunt cords chimed like bells and the question played again.

_"What do you see in him anyway?"  _

_Rogue turned, a bit startled at the question.  Then she smiled and her eyes shone, emeralds lit from within.  She didn't say anything, but those eyes said it very clearly._

'I see true love,' they said.

The memory knot began to shake violently and all the following knots fell apart.  Jimmie picked up the threads and went to work. 

_They went shopping.  Jimmie was just adorable, acting like a little gentleman.  He offered to carry the bags but the two adults waved him off.  Cara looked at Rogue.  Her friend seemed younger than eighteen, but she hardly looked twenty-six herself.  Rogue laughed and played tag with Jimmie in the street.  The girl was eighteen; she just acted young, sometimes.  _

_At others, she seemed old as the world itself.  Rogue was so vibrant, but she acted dark and gloomy.  It was laughable, but she just couldn't laugh at Rogue; she was too good a friend.  It had been two days, no more than five hours, but Rogue was a friend.        _

_She walked with Rogue to her hotel.  The concierge was nice, if a little too cheerful.  Cara said goodbye outside her room and offered for Rogue to visit her at the hotel the next day at noon, but the girl already had plans.  She could see Rogue in three days, if her friend's plans didn't change.  The southern girl was a busy one, that was for sure.  She shut the door and yawned.  _

Cara went to the table and picked up a book.  Laying on the floor, she opened to the bookmarked page.  She tried to read, but her eyes kept unfocusing or rereading the same line again and again.  Finally, she just fell asleep on the floor.

Jimmie smiled grimly, his work done.  Turning towards the wall of the abyss, it turned into a thoughtful frown.  It would be terribly hard to find Cara's mind again in the void and he had feeling he would need to fix thing again, and quickly.  He placed a hand on the spherical wall and began to drill.

He tunneled through the darkness, traveling to the real world.  Looking back, he decided it would be bad to change the structure of Cara's mind like that.  Two steel doors sprang up and each end of the tunnel.  Cara's mind wouldn't be able to reach out and outside forces couldn't worm their way into her head.  Except for Jimmie, of course, but he liked to think he wouldn't abuse the privilege.  He may have been a LeBeau, but only in name.  

Halfway out the door, Jimmie froze and shook his head ruefully.  He had almost forgot.  He went back to the table and picked up the book.  He opened it to the marked page and set it under Cara's hand.  He'd almost left a loose end.  You'd think he would have learned _that_ lesson by now.  

The boy left the hotel and walked into the bar to keep an eye on Mell.  No one saw him.  He told their eyes not to see him or not pay any attention, which ever was easier.  Despite that, he managed to get a root beer.  Jimmie drank it out of a cup.  He didn't like the feel of a mug or a bottle.  Across the room, Mell cradled a cup of coffee in the nook of her arm.  

It seemed that she was taking slow sips, but there were already two emptied mugs besides her.  She had no concept of moderation, not a bit.  When Mell raised a hand for a fourth, the waiter just left an entire pot.  Jimmie raised his eyebrows -he hadn't figured out how to just quirk one brow yet.  That much caffeine wouldn't be good for her.  Still, "_Mell's conscious_" didn't pipe up as it often did when Jimmie was around.  Unlike drinking or smoking, it wouldn't kill her.  She would be up all night, however.  That meant she would sneak out and yet again there would be an extra teenager dancing at the club.  And there would be an extra man in the crowd, keeping an eye on the extra girl.  Knave would see to that.                    

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the dark, Gambit opened his eyes.  There was no friendly kick in the balls to greet him, so he wondered what was wrong.  Lurching to his feet, he winced.  The shredded shoulder hurt a lot more than it had now that the adrenaline was gone.  He listened at the door, but there was nothing.  He opened it clumsily.  It swung out, and asleep on the couch in the lounge lay Rogue.  

Gambit stiffened, but no beast came out of nowhere to threaten her.  There was no voice in his head.  He scouted around the suite and found it deserted.  There was no laptop, no coats, and no leather duffel.  He distinctly remembered seeing a leather duffel in the bathroom and it was gone.  His trench coat –or rather, what was left of his trench coat was still where it had been.  But the mirror over the counter in the lounge hadn't been cracked before.  

Remy looked at his Petite, confused.  The lonely look was back and he went to her.  It was warm in the room and she had removed her sweater.  The tank became her, but there was too much skin.  The man looked down at his own clothing, shredded in several places.  His arms were completely bare save what the gloves covered.  Even then, it wasn't much.  His fingertips were showing.

An uneasy laugh escaped his lips.  Why hadn't he thought to use his power?  It would have been a lot easier to just blow the Wolverine to smithereens.  The answer to his question sobered him up completely.  Xavier had been messing with his head.  Why hadn't the man just looked in Remy's head and found out whether or not he had anything to do with the deaths?  Again, the answer was obvious and depressing.  Xavier hadn't cared; he just wanted someone to hurt.

The young man gingerly touched his smashed nose.  It would need to be broken again if he wanted to have anything resembling a nose ever again.  The Professor had found a good scapegoat.  Remy wouldn't even go to the hospital.  He would fix the nose himself and bind the shoulder and clean the slices in his flesh.  By himself.  The iodine was going to have a field day.  

Remy went to the bathroom and washed his face to get rid of the blood.  She gave the shoulder similar treatment.  It wasn't pretty and still seeped blood.  Remy pressed a folded hand towel to the wound.  He went back into the lounge and struggled into the trench coat.  The coat kept the impromptu bandage on the shoulder.  Finally covered enough, Remy went to Rogue and put her in his arms.  

She awoke and looked up at him.  He smiled, but she looked away.  Something had happened to her in the...how long had it been?  Since lunch, something had changed.  "Petite?"

"How could you, Gambit?"

He shook a little.  She had never called him Gambit before.  Rogue tore out of his grasp.  

"I didna kill dem, Chere."

She snorted, "Yeah, I kinda figured that one out on my own.  What tha Hell have ya been doin' to me!"

Remy looked at her in shock.  "What do you mean, Petite?"

She shook her head and walked away.  Damn if she wasn't irrational.  Before she was half-way to the door outside, Remy took her in his arms.  "What do you want, Rogue?  If I can, I'll give it to you."  She struggled, but he held onto her.

"Let go a' me," she said finally.

Remy shook his head.  "Said I'd never let you go, ma Petite."  Still, he let her out of his arms.  He only held onto her hand and led her to the tall chair Logan had shoved him into earlier.  He sat on one chair arm and leaned around, boxing his wife in on all four sides.  Then he let go of her hand.

"Anyt'ing else, Chere?"

She glared at him.  "I want ta go home."

"Okay, I'll have Mell bring by de car."

"My home, Gambit!"

Remy grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.  "Don't call me Gambit, Belle.  He might just come out an' scare you.  Yo' old home is not'ing.  I am your home now.  Me."  He stopped, then said softly, "You're my home too, Petite, an' I'm gettin' awful homesick.  I want to go home too, but I can't."  He let her go and walked away.  What would she do, run?

Part of him, the dark part, wished she would.  Then he could just become Gambit and force her to be what he wanted.  He'd done it before.  But it didn't work that way.  However much Rogue aggravated him, she didn't deserve Gambit and he wouldn't force her.  So they both would be lonely.

"Let's go home, Petite."  He pulled a sturdy cell from a battered pocket and made the call to Mell.  Looking down at himself, he realized not only did he look like a rag man, but his shades were destroyed.  

'Jimmie.'  

_*Yes?*_  The voice was small.  Good.  

'Get Gambit home without anyone noticin'.  Den get home too.  We're goin' to have a talk.' 

***

  
Things are piecing themselves back together...poor Remy and Rogue.  They seemed so close at lunchtime.  Oh well, Remy still loves Rogue, so it's just a matter of time...shoot!  This is turning into a typical Remy fights to get the girl fic!  NOOOOO!  I tried so hard to get away from it and it still came back and bit me.

I'll just have to throw in *another* cruel plot twist.  Don't y'all hate me?  Cara is still bumming around.  And Lizzy and Darien are strangely absent...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

At least it's not a Mary-Sue.  NO ONE can call this a Mary-Sue...if you discount the dozens of OCs.  At least they back up Remy's rather...how shall I put this...**_EMPTY_** character.  He goes in, woos the girl, blows up stuff, does the look at you with demon eyes things, and disappears.  And then there's that vague thing about why he works for Magneto, but _that_ doesn't apply to my fic.  How boring.  He had ONE episode in Evo, big whoop.  


	16. De Blood an' de Rats

I'm sorry, but there isn't much X-Men in this chapter.  However, I think it is enjoyable and important.  Just one recap: Echil is Mystique's firstborn child (according to me).

*******

Thief of Spirits

***

De Blood and de Rats

***

"Talk," Jimmie muttered.  "When have Remy and I just talked?"  He fingered the glass of sparkling, tasty chemicals.  The boy shrugged and took a sip.  Sickly sweet and slightly noxious, he loved its delicious taste.  Half of him did, anyway.  He dragged the other half along, kicking and screaming, "Poison!"

He put the glass down and the screaming stopped, a little.  It was no wonder he was a light eater.  The other half despised soda, ice cream, pizza, organic produce…everything, even water.

*Poison!*

Jimmie pushed the glass away.  It popped and fizzed enticingly, but his stomach had turned.  He looked at the dent four hours had put in his soda.  Only a third of the root beer was empty and his cup was still half full.  Disgusted, he stood.

He followed Mell out the door.  As always, she didn't see him.  His adoptive sister slid into her car, her only possession that was worth anything.  She would be fine, Remy wouldn't find out she had been drunk.  They'd get home all right.  Jimmie didn't go down the same way as Mell.  It wasn't safe.

The boy walked a bit on the street until he came to a filthy, darkened tunnel that some people called an alley.  Foreboding and dark, it was a horror film director's dream.  Looks were deceiving.

That was part of the reason why he never trusted his eyes.  The other part was that he would go blind in two years, but it was beside the point.  The seeming death trap was his safest route home.

Still, it was a long way and Jimmie was tired.  He wanted nothing more than to snag a ride home with Mell, but Gambit said no contact so Gambit got no contact.  So the boy walked everywhere.  To stave off the boredom and exhaustion, he played games.  How close to danger could he come and still be entirely safe?

Very close, it seemed.  Blue eyes looked to home, blind to the walls and barriers before him.  The LeBeau complex lay bright and entreating, which he thought was ironic.  Looks were deceiving.  The alley was safe -for the moment, at least.  Home, beautiful and grand, was deadly.  

The ways to home were what Jimmie saw, every last one.  Then, parts of the maze of pathways grew dark.  There were gangs on those roads, pitfalls and predators.  Slowly, slowly the universe ran down those ways and returned with its findings until only one good path remained.  Only then did Jimmie begin to walk home.  It was the safest, the quickest way.

But the rats.  Jimmie hated rats more than maggots and clowns, mold, spiders and teletubbies combined.  They scrabbled behind the blackened, crumbling walls; hidden from a world that didn't believe they existed.  Scratch, scrape, those are happy sounds.  They found a dead dog on the roof, full of little puppies in her womb.  Tonight they all feast, but the swamp rats will get the most.  Jimmie snarled.  Of course it was swamp rats: red eyed kings that ruled the weaker city vermin.  Destructive, cruel, grasping, ruthless, in short: LeBeaus.

Jimmie stopped.  The path of safety had shifted.  A cutthroat had wandered into the boy's way a few turns ahead.  He stopped, concentrated for a moment, and then backtracked to a sliver of a gap between two buildings, barely three feet wide.  He walked through and  made a left, then a right.  Back on the path home, he continued on.

The little shadowed streets grew narrow and cluttered with debris.  It was the back way between factories and warehouses.  Deserted.  Crumbled mortar and age eaten brick littered the ground.  What wasn't in chunks was thick dust and grime caked down upon itself until it resembled a dirt road.  Ah, nostalgia.  If someone wanted to see old cities, he didn't go to Roman ruins or dig under volcanic ash.  He visited the areas that were pointedly taken off the tourist map -the city map, for that matter.  Something ancient hid in the tiny hidden back ways.  Jimmie would have liked it, if not for the rats. 

Jimmie rolled his eyes and sidestepped the empty glass bottle as it crashed onto the spot where he had been a moment before.  He looked up and shook his head at the alley cat on the roof high above him.  It looked back lazily, then disappeared somewhere he that didn't really care to find out.  Blue eyes, a voice said.  Such vivid blue eyes for a cat.  On the scrawny side with mangy black fur and rat-breath, its eye color was the only thing of note about the stray.

The glass shards glittered, bringing a bit of light to the murky place.  Jimmie left them littered there to brighten the atmosphere.  For all his kind thoughts, he didn't care about picking up trash or paying a cent of his dues to society.  Society was a civilization of crooks.  Some, like the LeBeaus, just took that fact to a deeper level.

*Hungry,* a voice -his own- pleaded.  That was a first.  Strangely, it didn't seem to be speaking to him, as if he were below notice.  Annoyed, Jimmie stuffed the voice back inside him and screened out the universe.  He didn't want to hear any more voices.  He picked up the pace and hurried home.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The cat with bright blue eyes pauses mid-step.  She stays there, frozen like a statue.  She collapses and twitches two times, three.  She falls unconscious.  Moments pass by, and then the cat opens her eyes.  They are an unremarkable, dull gray.

A little particle of the universe told its darling boy that, but he didn't hear it.  Not the slightest bit put out, it beamed away on a ray of light and watched with delight as a brick decomposed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Far away, the owner a pair of startling blue eyes waited for dark to come.  It would not do to go blind, for that was what light did to eyes such as his.  Long ago, it had not mattered.  Before electric lights and gaslights, before lanterns and candles, before fire, it had not mattered.  It was not before; it was now and now he laid trapped, predator turned into prey, forced to watch the world through animal eyes.  

But the boy looked in the light and the boy saw.  Was he a stronger breed or a diluted one?  Did such trivial things matter anymore?  No, one's breeding no longer mattered; survival was what gave one prestige.  

A whimper in the corner made the eyes shift.  The human child he had lured away from the light behind the protection of dark glasses and the guise of humanity huddled in the blackness.  So strange that she should fear utter darkness: his savior.  

Or perhaps not so strange.  Instinct, ancient primordial fear told her the darkness was to be feared.  Her species' ancestors had died in the dark.  It was why they had abandoned the forests of eternal night and ran to the day lit savannah.  His father's people had followed, learning to suffer starlight and to hide underground from the sun.

Humans, as the prey came to be called, learned to harness firelight as a weapon against the dark predators.  They forgot their place as prey with time, but not their fear of darkness.  It was forever engrained in their brains from those first hairy ancestors.

The human girl didn't know that, ignorant as she was of her history.  History said she was prey, but she would never believe it.  Some strain of arrogance had leaked into the human race at some point.  It had not always been that way.  The monkeys had and still did know their place.  There were the stronger and weaker.  Humans were weaker, but they refused to accept it.  Instead they hid behind light and called themselves brave.  

He eyed the human with distaste.  She could not see him -not even his eyes, though they glowed.  That small, acceptable light was too dim for her primitive eyes.  But he could see her; he could see her cower.  The girl was not bound.  Fear kept her still.  Yes, without their light, humans showed their true nature.  He saw her eyes and recognized the look.  A baby mouse caught by a cat had that look.  Rabbits' eyes quivered that way when the hawk swooped down.  Prey.  Without their disgusting light, humans were prey.

The human's eyes reminded him of another pair, the familiar blue eyes of a child who seemed to be human, but somehow wasn't.  Perhaps the boy was a diluted breed that would one day father the next great line.  He shook his head.  Foolish dreams and nothing more.  Blue eyes and nothing more.  The skin was too dark and the build all wrong for the child to be one of his people.  And the hair, though faintly pleasing, was too colorful.  Whites, blacks, the rare silver, those colors were proper shades for hair, and not red gold.

The boy was one of the Changed, one of the humans who where also something else.  Like arrogance, the Change had leaked into human blood.  All the Changed traced their lines back to certain mutants, as the Changed called themselves sometimes.  There was no pattern for when or where a new Changed line would begin.  His people only tried to find one because the Changed were dangerous, stronger than their fellows.

He snarled and the sound frightened the human to tears.  He stood and left her in the dark for another room lit by technology to the intensity of starlight.  A child -a proper child of his people- scrambled to her feet.  She bowed and left in a hurry, a trail of white hair flying behind her.  It disgusted him that the small child, barely more than an infant, and his prey had seen the same number of years.  Fifteen…humans aged too quickly.                      

He looked back at the dining room that he had stridden through moments before.  They bred too quickly as well.  What was worse, they were ignorant of it.  His prey carried a child she knew nothing about.  His people knew the very moment life began.  The voices: the spirits of wind, blood, fire, of the stars themselves spoke to his people.  It varied.  Some could just hear from certain sources or were forced to ask to receive an answer.  Others, like himself, heard everything and almost infinite knowledge was force fed them.  Almost.

The spirits loved or hated certain places, certain substances, secrets and people too much to tell others of them.  His people were one, the source of the Changed another.  The spirits loved his people, sang their children to sleep and mourned their loss.  Surely the Changed were beneath contempt.  They were abominations that disrupted the natural order.

He snarled again in contempt and took a seat on the bench where the child had been training her eyes to stand starlight.  A memory, perfect and eidetic as always, surfaced.  A face so like his own -but wild- stared back with rage.

"Echil," he murmured.  That was what it had called itself in the prey's pidgin.  Echil.  He had been confused.  It looked like him, but it called the herd of prey its family.  But  it stood fully upright and had the smooth, hairless features of a person.  Then a spirit told him it was prey, but changed.  The prey called it Spirit –a god.  He had no time to question the spirits further because Echil attacked.  It attacked him too viciously for a person, too quickly for prey.

He had escaped, but with great dishonor.  He was the first of his people to be harmed by prey.  But such a thing could not be called prey.  Echil was modeled after the feral cats of the savannah.  Its ears were sharp in hearing and pointed in shape.  Its strength and speed were frightening.  It was consumed by its aggressive instincts.  Echil followed scents and roared like an animal.  Echil, he later learned, was the prey word for the sabertooth.

Echil, it was the first Changed, but then there was another, then another.  They bred and their children were like them.  But then something good happened.  The Changed disappeared and all was good for a time.  Things went back to the old ways, until the prey surrounded themselves with light.  

Then, slowly, slowly the Changed began to appear again.  His people did not know why and the spirits could not say.  Their numbers increased and now they outnumbered his people.  What was left of his people.

He rose and banished the mournful thoughts.  He turned and walked through the passageway.  In the long hall, his eyes grew accustomed to darkness again as the light grew farther away.  Such convenience was for the children, who needed the transition.  

In the hall, the child bowed to him again.  "Have you finished you task, Lord Nakor?" she asked carefully in the old tongue.  He fought the urge to nod, a prey response, but smiled as an answer.  It pleased him that she had chosen to learn the old tongue at such a young age.  Nakor.  Yes, that was his name.  He had been born before the fashion of personal names had taken hold of his people and often forgot it.

"Have you finished with your task," he corrected gently, then gestured for her to return to the light chamber.  Then he stopped her.  His appetite had ceased.

"Child," Nakor asked, again in the old tongue.  "Do you hunger?"

After a moment, she smiled respectfully.  Her skill at facial expression wasn't expert enough for the Lord to know whether it was a yes or no, but her elongated fangs told him the answer.  Adults rarely felt hunger and were liable to lose it without notice, but children, troubled with the strain of aging, were constantly starving.  

"There is a meal waiting for you in the adjoining dining room when you finish your task."

She smiled with delight and disappeared into the light chamber.  Nakor, for his part, wandered the halls.  He overheard a conversation of a group of middle children -the equivalent of human "teenagers."

"...don't see what de deal is," a boy declared.  "We're strong, dey're weak.  Why do we hide from dem?  We are vampires..."

Nakor's snarl cut the youth's display short.  It was terrible enough that he used human language and speech patterns, but to call his people vampires was intolerable.  The Lord glowered at the young fool, and then smiled so subtly that his contempt was invisible.

"Yes, what is "the deal," as you put it?  They are weak; even the Changed are nothing to us."  He spoke in the current form of English deceptively smooth and soft, as if he too believed the boy's words.  

The middle child relaxed a bit.  Nakor grabbed the fool by the throat and lifted him up.  The Lord's smile turned ruthless and disgusted.  It was over pronounced so even a human could recognize it.  The belittlement was lost upon the idiot.

He dropped the middle child and herded him down the hall.  "If that is your belief, boy, then you are headed towards a rude awakening.  I wish to show something that is hidden from children.  It is an honor that you should learn of it so soon."  His voice made very clear that it was no honor.  At least the youth was intelligent enough to realize that.

Nakor went to one of the doors locked to children.  At the side panel, he pressed in the key plate easily.  In truth, it took strength that only adults possessed.  Children could not force it more than an inch and no human, no normal human, held a candle.  There was a click and the door sung open.  The boy backed away sharply.  Spirits had run to him, speaking of the pain and death within.

The Lord dragged him through the doorway.  "Falzei, this is the deal."  Falzei started at his name.  It didn't occur to him that it was nothing for his elder to ask a spirit to find his name in the logbooks.

Nakor touched the wall.  It was plated in the metal that his people called Suith.  Suith was a substance beloved of the spirits.  It was so well loved that the spirits wouldn't even tell of the object or people hidden within or in contact with it.  The metal also hid its bearers from magical scrying and telepathy, among other things.

The Lord wore Suith as a ring.  Falzei had elected for a Suith nose ring.  All the people wore them, ever since the Inquisition, though few youths knew why or what the metal did for them.

There was a long ways to go and Nakor had very little patience.  He started down the long, metallic hall, trusting the middle child to follow behind.  "This is where the wounded are taken," he spoke in the new tongue.  He watched the youth through the corner of his eye.  The boy was obviously unused to the language, even though it was his native tongue.  Or at least it was supposed to be.  It pained Nakor to see his people's culture decaying, being overrun by human maxims.

"Wounded?"  Falzei finally asked.  The Lord smiled, silently saying yes.  

"Yes, wounded."  Nakor trailed his fingers along the wall.  "And it is where we keep our dead."

"We die?" the boy cried in human.

There was a scream, quickly silenced.

Nakor glared at Falzei.  "Never utter that language here.  They have endured enough."  He led the boy through a doorway.  Inside, hundreds of people lay on thin, soft beds.

"They are sleeping," the boy whispered, confused.

"That is how we wish to think of them, yes: only sleeping.  It is a comfort for the children, if they believe one day their families will awaken.  This," he gestured to the people, "is how our corpses look.  If we ever decompose, it takes longer than the few centuries we have watched over our dead."

"This many?"  Nakor smiled at the question.

"This is only one section of this Memoriam."

"Memoriam is a human word," Falzei protested.  Nakor eyed him distastefully.  The boy knew prey languages better than his own.

"And the term "human see, human do" was coined by the prey as well?" the Lord asked.  "This is one section of this Memoriam.  There are more rooms behind those doors and that stairwell goes down several flights.  The are seven such Memoriams, and we are now considering the location of an eighth.  It is more crowded in the others.  This is where we house those that died in the first years of our coming to the swamps.  Many friends lie here, and in other places.  Your aunt sleeps in Fifth Memoriam, if I recall."

"She transferred to New York."

Nakor smiled sadly.  "And the New York people are said to transfer here.  Still..."  He placed a hand on a child's brow, and then gently tucked a length of hair behind her ear.  Perfect ears, his daughter Manakae had always had the most beautiful, delicately pointed ears.  Her silver hair stretched for dozens of feet and the Lord reordered the interwoven pattern the braid made about her head until it lay perfect.

A foot of silver hair fell from Manakae's head before the braid began.  Hair was the only part of his people's bodies that never stopped growing.  Even their nails, strong hard as adamantium and just as unbreakable, never grew past a decent length.  He would ask one of the children to come and plait it again.  It was a joy for them and they were attracted to silver hair like humans to death.

He looked up and found Falzei waiting uncomfortably.  Nakor looked at his daughter once more, and then walked away.  "Still, there are fates worse than death, to use the human term.  I wish to show you my son next."

He led the youth out of the First Memoriam into the hall again, silently telling him to stay quiet as well.  They came to a different door and it was opened by a young man.  "Father, it is pleasant for you to visit," he said.  "May I ask the occasion, and why you bring such a young visitor?"  The little adult paused, and then murmured, "It is a youth, isn't it?"

Nakor froze, momentarily at a loss for words, then said almost too expressively, "Yes, it is.  This is Falzei.  His aunt sleeps in the Memoriam."

"Oh, I feel for your loss, young Falzei."  Nakor's son turned to smile sympathetically at the boy, but his gaze fixed upon Falzei's chest.  The youth cleared his throat awkwardly, and the young man tilted his head up to look into the eyes of Nakor's companion, almost.  Falzei bit his lip, and his eyes widened with fear.  He had seen Shilf's eyes.

"Shilf," Nakor said smoothly, "it is my wish that Falzei see the wards.  He will be volunteering in one, so I wish for him to see which suits him best."  The youth bit his lip harder, trying not to draw blood.  Nakor looked into his son's pallid eyes, and allowed a small wince.  Shilf smiled, unknowing, and led them inside.  Nakor spent much of his time studying human behaviors to hunt unnoticed.  He knew there was something ironic in being led by a blind man, but he found no humor it, just as he found no humor in the paradox of a dead immortal or the sadism of outliving his child.  Humans could laugh at anything, even their own doom.

They followed Shilf to a workshop.  There, people wove and worked other craft.  A child ran up to them.  "Shilf!" she cried, "Look at what I made!"  Nakor and his son winced, but Shilf knelt to take the small, painted clay doll.  He ran his hands about it.

"Very nice, Plajine.  What colors are his clothes?"

She giggled, "You're strange!  Blue, of course."          

"And his hair?"

"Silver," the child replied with a strange lisp, somehow amused that Shilf had to ask her.  

"Why am I not surprised?"

"What?"

"Nothing," Shilf said quickly.  Even if the girl didn't know what the human phrase meant, Nakor did.  It pained him to think of how his son had learned it.  

Shilf and Plajine went on.  He asked about what he couldn't see and she described it.

"...What color are the eyes?"

She smiled.  The child had a strange habit of keeping her mouth closed when she did.  Nakor had his suspicions as to why, but kept them to himself.  

Plajine cried, "Red!"

Shilf stiffened.  The doll slipped from his hands and shattered.  For a moment, the pair was still as the statue had been, then the girl began to cry.  Nakor's son took her in his arms.  "I'm sorry, my darling, darling spirit," he whispered.  "I didn't mean to.  God, I'm sorry."

"God?"

"Nothing," he murmured, but he began to shake.  "Please, say hi to Lord Nakor and  Falzei.  I...I have matters that need attending.  Would you show them around the wards for me?"

"Why do you talk so strangely, Shilf?"

Shilf patted her head and rushed away, pausing only to bow to Nakor.

Plajine sniffed a moment more, then grew joyful again.  She smiled deeply and open mouthed and Falzei bit back a gasp.  Where the fangs should have lain, there was only air.

"Hi," she said to them uneasily, then asked, "What is hi?"  Nakor evaded answering the question, but had the girl lead them around the remaining wards, each more sickening than the last.

Finally, the boy whispered, "Why?"

Nakor told Plajine there was a silver-haired girl her age sleeping in the First Memoriam that would very much like her hair braided.  Then he gestured for the boy to follow him.  

The Lord and the youth sat in a light chamber.  Nakor preferred to be in one when he thought and spoke of human things.  He liked to limit human things to the light chambers, the dining rooms, and the wards.  For a time he thought, gathering his thoughts on the matter.  

Finally, Nakor spoke.  "What do you know of the LeBeaus?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Remy sat in the arm chair in the apartment.  Rogue, the only thing in the whole damn place he could call his, lay sprawled on the bed, reading a book.  He didn't care which book.  Frankly, he didn't care about much at the moment, except for getting healed.  And he couldn't go about getting healed until she fell asleep.  Unfortunately, she was engrossed.  

He pulled out the gloves that covered his entire hands and walked to her.  If he had to wait, then he was going to enjoy the wait.  He flicked off the lights and she glared.  He tossed the book across the room.  

"It's late," he said.

"It's barely sun down."

"It's been a long day.  Sunset is too late tonight," he replied.  After a short scuffle, Remy held her in his arms under the covers.  His shoulder screamed bloody murder, but he ignored it.  

"Sleep."

She laughed.  "You have got ta be kiddin'."

"Sleep or you'll learn about de other t'ing we can do in bed."

"One:  I'd love ta see you try it, coma boy.  Two:  that sentence threw sleep out tha window."

He laughed.  "Well, as for number two, dat is why Remy said it, ma Petite.  Number one: you disappoint Remy.  Sound like a damn teenager.  It ain't all about sex and touch.  Sometimes, it's seeing how far you can get dem to go."  Remy placed a hand on her heart.  After a quiet moment, the large silk shirt began to glow and he leaned close.  "How far will you go, ma Petite?  How far will I?"

Remy pulled Rogue beneath him and her breath caught in her throat.  The energy fled from her and he pulled back to a kneeling position by her feet.  "Sleep Petite.  If Remy remembers right, you told Cara we had plans tomorrow night.  You'll need de energy."

"I never said..."

"Ah, but she t'inks you did and are you gonna tell her different, dat her mem'ries are false?  Gambit don't like Cara, Belle.  She try to steal you from him.  Sleep or sleep wit' Gambit."  

Rogue closed her eyes and he tucked her in.  He blew a kiss to her forehead.  "Dat'll do, Rogue.  Sleep."   

Five minutes later, she slept.  Remy shook his head.  Sometimes, he swore his fille was narcoleptic.  He eased himself off the bed and walked softly to the bathroom.  He knelt stiffly and pulled the box from where he had kicked it that morning.  He rifled through looking for a small, plastic container.  Finally, it surfaced and he pulled it out.  He popped it open and frowned.  

It wasn't what he remembered being there.  There was a cell phone and small card.  On the card was scrawled a phone number and the message:  **"Bloody Mary bled BLUE."  Then, in his own handwriting: don't blame Jimboy and don't tell.  **

Remy sighed and made the call.  He was too tired to think about it.  After a few rings, it picked up, but there was no speaker on the line.

"Bloody Mary bled blue," he said finally.  

***Hello, Remy!***

He started at the familiar voice on the phone.  "Merin?"  The woman handled the mutants' secrecy at the café with her strange mind tricks.  What did she have to do with his injuries?

She laughed.  ***You ask that every time, Remy, thief of blue blood.***  The line sounded practiced.  ***And how do I answer, Remy?***

Something clicked and Remy suddenly remembered.  "Y.  E.  S." he laughed.

***Very good!  Now that we've dredged up those recessive memories, we can get to fixing that medical emergency.  What was it this time?***

"Remy was near de wrong girl at de wrong time."

***Oh, Remy!  After all this going steady talk?  Rogue is going to kill you.***

"Not what you t'ink, Merin.  Didn't talk, didna touch.  Her guardians made de wrong assumption too."  

***For the sake of your hide, that better be the truth, Remy.  You keep a box of band-aids somewhere.  A big, tall white box with Disney world themed band-aids.  Don't know why, but you never touch it.  Open it up.  You'll find what you're looking for.  And bring Jimmie by the lab soon.  He's due for a check-up  I'll get a replacement for what you use tonight then.  How's the thieving going?***

"Good enough fo' two."

***Well, that's good.  Not picking pockets anymore, I guess.  What kind of work do you do now?***

He smiled.  "Remy still independent, Merin.  Don't you worry now," he reassured.

***Just keep on being independent, Remy.  Avoid the gangs like the plague.  Especially the Thieves' Guild.  They're no good, those LeBeaus.***

"I'll keep dat in mind, Merin."     

She hung up, leaving Remy confused.  He was missing something.  He still dug back into the medical junk pile and pulled out a white box after a moment.  He suppressed a shudder and Mickey stared at him.  He opened the lid and among the nest of band-aids, there were several vials of...

Impossible.

He held the ice blue liquid in the light and it was as he feared.  Remy swallowed.  How had he gotten his hands on it?  More importantly, how was kind, innocent, ethical Merin getting it?

Trembling slightly, the thief loaded the vial into the waiting syringe and injected it into his arm.  For a few seconds, there was nothing.  Then she began to shake violently.  It stopped quickly as it had began, but the pain was gone.  His wounds were healed. 

Remy stood and groped for the light.  Finally, he hit it and the bathroom went pitch black  He tore off his shades and opened his eyes.  He stared into the mirror, watching his stunning blue eyes stare back at him easily, in spite of the darkness.

"Vampire blood.  Where de Hell did I get vampire blood?"  

Remy shuddered.  From a vampire, that's where he got it.  He remembered the rooms his father kept of them.  He remembered the screams, of humans.  The vampires had forgotten how to scream when Knave finished with them.  

You had to feed vampires human blood if you wanted theirs to have any healing properties.  That was the business.  If you wanted a miracle for your brain tumor kid, you paid 10 million and condemned ten people to death for one vial.  And people did it again and again.  Booming business for the LeBeaus.

"Where de Hell did I get vampire blood?" he asked any listening spirits.  As always, he never received an answer.  He went to bed, stumbling as the exhaustion of healing caught up with him.  Remy slipped under the covers and held Rogue to him.  How many times had he used it?  How many innocent people had he killed to avoid bum shoulders and crooked noses?  He tried not to think about the vampire blood.  It would wear off and if the strange phone call meant anything, he would soon forget about it anyway.  

Rogue shifted in her sleep and pressed against his heart.  The scars were clean and healthy, but still there.  It told him, you are LeBeau, in blood and deed.  Remy shuddered, wishing that he could forget that too.

***

Well, that's my take on vampires.  Mini plots, aren't they great?  Yes, I know I'm crazy.  I updated on Christmas Day.  But I can't sleep on Christmas Eve, so I typed to 12:30.  Technically Christmas, but not really.  

MERRY CHRISTMAS...scary present, but it works.  

_Sorry, no Review responses this time.  Bad me, I know.  I'll do a real big one next time.               _


	17. T'inking of Familie

**Shit!  I uploaded the wrong chapter!  Sorry, very big idiot.  That's what I get for doing anything @ 1 am.  **

*******

**Thief of Spirits by _Eternity's Voice_**

***

Ch 17: T'inking of Familie

***

Nakor sat with his son in the boy's room.  Shilf had tried to force him away, but he had been firm.  The Lord was the oldest person still alive among his people.  He was not the strongest or the quickest, but experience gave him the edge.  After a time, he took the young man in his arms as he had often wanted to when the boy was still a child.  Shilf had been raised by his mother, as tradition dictated when twins were born.  A family could only raise one child at once.  Nakor had raised Makkae, but his heart as ached when his dear Danai took Shilf away.  He had been ready to damn tradition, but his wife had convinced him it would be impossible to hunt for all four of them, that he would kill himself and starve the twins.

His son did not fight him, but clung to him like Makkae had when frightened.  Nakor closed his eyes and wished the all the terrible years had not happened.  He imagined Makkae was not dead and Danai not lost to him forever, that his wife had changed her mind and allowed them to be one family.  He imagined Shilf had never been captured and been forced to flee into the sunlight to escape, that he was still an innocent boy.  He imagined his son would open his eyes and look at him with tears, looking for an answer to a childish question.

The dream broke and Nakor's darling girls were lost.  Shilf was blind and a stranger to him.  The young man he held did not remember his face and often forgot the sound of his voice.  "She didn't know, Shilf," he said quietly at last in the prey tongue.  "She didn't give the doll red eyes on purpose."  Unlike so many others, the former prisoner didn't react violently at the language of his humans tormentors.  He seemed to take comfort in it.  It was unusual, but then he had been the only person to escape from where he had been taken.  

The LeBeaus were different, cruel in ways that seemed kind.  Shilf didn't talk of his experiences except to family.  He spoke to few he hadn't taken under his wing as some member of an imaginary family.  He had told Nakor of his encounter in a dark room, visited by strange people.  He spoke of unending dreams where he lived a life with his captors as a human.  At the time, he had thought his real self was the dream, that he was truly prey only dreaming he was a vampire.  The Lord had succumbed to rage when he realized what his son spoke of.  Shilf's mind had been forced into a prey body by a Changed or some other prey abomination.  He had not lived the terrible pain and mutilation others of their people spoke of, but Nakor could never forgive the LeBeaus for what they had done.

Even then, Shilf had eventually known torture.  Perhaps the prey thought they had tamed him or grew bored with defiling his psyche.  His mind left that of the human he had been.  Shilf had awakened in darkness, fastened to a machine.  Tubes ran through his body.  Some sent fresh red blood into him and others cycled his own blue blood around into a metal box and out again.  He fought his way out, ripping the hollow tubes from his skin.  His son's wounds healed, but his blood poured from the machine, covering the floor with glowing, pale blue liquid.  Curious, he had torn apart the machine and found vials of an intense blue liquid.  It smelled like his blood but so much stronger.  There had been a noise and he turned to see a pair of red lights.  He squinted through the brightness and saw a man -his family, or so he thought.  The memories of Shilf's life as prey flooded him and he walked towards the LeBeau man innocently, asking what had happened.  The man reached out and his body froze.  No matter how he fought, he couldn't make it move.  His lungs would not breathe and hours later, he fell unconscious.  

He woke up chained in metal bonds he could not break.  The man with the red eyes was there, angry.  He beat Shilf mercilessly, calling him by his human name, somehow knowing how to make it hurt.  The prey wanted him to hurt for some reason.  His wounds wouldn't close because of some unknown force and he bled himself dry every day.  He became gaunt, starving from the effort it took to heal.  Finally, the red eyed man no longer chained him, just left him motionless on the cold floor.  Then prey came into his prison; his wife from the human life.  She knew him, somehow, and rushed to him.  He fed from her, crying.  Then when his wife lay dead, he realized his captor's mistake.  His power was returned and he was unchained.  His anger lent him strength enough to rip through the doors of his prison.  Surprisingly, the room outside had been dark.  It was a set of prey quarters blackened.  There was no light, the windows were covered to let in no light and seemed to have been that way for years.

Shilf felt the red eyes on him before he saw them.  He backed away from his tormentor towards a darkened window.  The prey told him coldly it was broad daylight outside.  He froze for a moment, but it was of his own fear and not the man's strange power.  The man laughed; sure that he had cowed Shilf with the murder of his beloved wife.  The sound gave Nakor's the strength to do what he had to do.  He cursed the prey in his own language and dove through the window into the blinding noon sunlight, down so many stories to the hard ground.  Shilf ran sightless through the alleys, following his nose to the slums.  There he drained several tramps dry, then more.  But no matter how many he fed from, his sight would not return.  He lived that way, recklessly killing and running blindly from each spot so the red eyed human would not find him.  

In the end, his own people found the boy and brought him home.  Nakor heard of his son's return and rushed to the wards, only to find a blind prey in Shilf's place.  He had been the first to learn the truth, to learn how his son's eyes had been blinded, turned the icy color of blood.  A little over a decade had passed and the young man still woke, screaming from memories of the red-eyed monster.  When that didn't happen, he awakened thinking he was human and the world about him was the dream.  He cried for the wife he had killed, the prey child he had left behind.  It made Nakor sick, but he never said so to his son.  The boy had endured enough.

Nakor opened his eyes and looked at his son, dozing in his arms.  Shilf slept like a human: every night.  It was unnecessary and most likely unhealthy, but his body would not break the habit.  In that resting state, the Lord saw his son's starvation.  He sighed, then grimaced at his human reaction.  In some ways, Shilf believed he was a vampire, a human turned into one of the people.  It was only silly human superstition and a medical impossibility, but Shilf believed.  He ignored the Spirits, choosing to trust the voices of his own dreams and fantasies.  He felt like he had been human once and loathed feeding off them until the hunger was apparent on him.  He hid the signs as well as he could though.  

The Lord stroked Shilf's black hair, making a decision.  He had only just hunted, but it would not be hard to do so again.  He hunted in a specific area his people normally avoided.  They didn't like the type of prey that frequented clubs.  They only saw the addicts and the drunk.  Nakor saw healthy people, only depressed and trying to find companionship for their lonely lives.  It wasn't hard to find those who would not be missed among that lot.  Better yet, he was not the only hunter.  Humans stalked humans in clubs.  When humans went missing there, humans looked for human predators.  He would never be suspected, even by monsters like the LeBeaus.

He lay his son down and let him sleep.  The next day Shilf would feed, his protests falling on deaf ears.  Nakor left, going out to hunt.

~*~*~*~*~*~  

It was late, but Mell's world didn't sleep.  She herself could find no rest.  Perhaps it was the caffeine; Hell, it was probably the caffeine.  Still, she would have stayed awake had she not gorged coffee.  It was finally dark; it was her time.  For hours she had lain in bed listening.  Things were quiet to human ears, but she knew there were insects and vermin everywhere around the building.  They crawled and found their way through the wall unseen.  They dared not go anywhere near her six foot cube of an apartment though.  There were penalties for invading her space.  Choo enforced them with a glee that seemed almost human.  

Choo, he was the only animal allowed in her tiny sanctuary -a cross-eyed tabby cat with no qualms concerning the digestion of insects or rats easily his size.  He lay sprawled in his own sleeping space: a laundry basket lined by towels that couldn't fit in the bathroom.  In Mell's opinion, the feline had the bigger bed.  Hell, his basket was larger than the bathroom.  She stood and looked down at the basket that jutted out from under her bed.  With a practiced motion, she flipped up the mattress back into its place on the wall, giving her two feet of extra room.  Choo hissed when his hiding place was revealed.

With a sigh, the girl grabbed his basket and shoved it across the room.  It slid neatly underneath the sturdy low table against one wall, again giving the cat a roof over his head.  Choo meowed with an air of superiority that was out of place, even in a cat, and then went back to snoozing.  Mell strapped the mattress to the wall.  She knelt and opened the plastic box next to where her cat had been.  She dug through the bags until she found a certain one.  She broke the air-tight seal and let the pack expand to three times its original size.  It was truly amazing how many tricks she knew about space conservation.  Then again, she had to.  She upended the plastic bag and clothing plopped into her waiting hands.  It matched her boots that waited by the door.  All her clothes did; shoes took up too much space.  She only owned one pair.

Minutes later, Mell surveyed her unimpressive reflection.  Unruly short brown hair, dull black eyes, a nose the width of a knife and about as flat, she was nothing to look at.  She looked nothing like Marie, the beautiful one.  Her sister had always been beautiful, she had mattered.  She walked down the street and people looked.  

Mell was nothing.  She had a body -she looked down- but it wasn't much.  The one advantage she had was that it made her look older, older than sixteen in the dark anyway.  There was something final to her almost skeletal body shape.  _It won't develop any more than this, so live with it._

She turned, unleashing the same critical eye on her apartment.  It was too small she tried to do too much with it.  In reality it was one long room with a cubby called a closet and a closet called a bathroom.  Mell slept in the same place she cooked in the same place she ate in the same place she worked.  Looking at it, she supposed it was a college freshman's dream, but it was a personalized slice of Hell for her.

I wasn't that she was claustrophobic but as a kid there had been a lot of open space to just be in.  The kitchen had been bright and airy and had led out to a wonderful garden.  Mell had spent most of her time in those two places.  It was at that kitchen table in Vermont that she had turned computer hacking into an art.

It had been Marie's idea.  She had promised their parents that Mell would enter the family business before they died but she didn't want her baby sister anywhere near death.  The answer lay in the growing world wide web.  Finders or information specialists, before the internet they had fallen into two categories: old and rich or young and dead.  If word got out you were asking about someone and your someones wound up robbed or dead then you disappeared for while or forever, depending on luck and your ability to turn invisible.  The internet changed all that.  At first discrete computer chats with snitches were the best it had to offer, but slowly the most amazing information found its way onto the net.

Mell knew her way through the CIA database like nobody's business.  She had other equally good sources but CIA was what she advertised and CIA made her the best.  Putting those three letters on her resume was basically the same as having doctorates in hacking and brain surgery, seven Nobel prizes, and the cure for cancer up her sleeve, only a hell lot more impressive.  She had gone into the business at nine and officially retired at the ripe old age of 10.  In English that meant in one year she had built up enough credit that clients came to _her_ and she decided which cases she took.

Even though Marie had...died and she was now Gambit LeBeau's permanent employee, that hadn't changed much.  Mell was a retired finder -the old and rich kind.  She just happened to do Gambit's interests free.  That wasn't much of a change either   She had done Marie free too.  He sister had called it a family favor; Gambit called it the price of living, which was a frightening phrase when you thought about it for too long.

Mell sat at the table she had shoved Choo under.  He computer lay waiting on the otherwise empty tabletop, which showed how important it really was.  Nothing else in the apartment had just one purpose.  Instead of a cupboard, her dishes lived in the dishwasher.  Her clothes washer also dried them.  Her bed was also her closet and normally Choo's roof.  Mell smiled down at the tabby whose tail poked out of the whicker hamper.  Even Choo's basket did double duty as the linen closet and the hiding places of her cigarettes, vodka, and Marie's picture.  

It was the perfect secret spot.  Choo was basically Garfield.  He slept twenty hours a day and only left bed to eat lasagna.  Or rats, but he hadn't done that for two years.  He lived the good life by milking the myth of himself.  Choo of the Bloody Teeth was a pariah among vermin.  Mommies told bad little mice he would kill them in their beds and chew their bones in alphabetical order, or so her wild imagination said in her dreams.

_Girl, your imagination got nothing on me._

Mell blinked, and then stared down at her cat's basket.  "What?"

_I said your imagination got zilch on the Choo-Master.  Alphabetical order?  Don't make me hack a hairball on that lovely little number you wearing.  Reading mice are a minority in N'Awlins.  Shit, they a minority of a minority.  Alphabetical.  No, what them mama mice say is that I eat bad mouse kids alive.  I chew the meat off their legs, then their feet, down to their little toes.  Next I tear open the ribcage and eat all the organs, less it's a boy mouse.  Then I tear off their organ and then open the ribcage.  Gruesome, yeah, but them mama mice are vicious.  They scare the mouse kids dead straight.  Shred those dreams of being bad street rats into nice little pieces._

"I'm insane," she said, numbly.

A little kitty head popped out from under the table, glaring murder.  _Don't you pull that "I'm cuckoo" shit on me, girl.  You fine.  All them other humans, they crazy.  They ain't got no respect for the fur._

Mell laughed.  She'd gone off the deep end.  "Right, okay den.  Long as we on speakin' terms, pass de vodka.  I want to blame dis on bein' wasted."

_Girl, you think I'm gonna touch a bottle of taters rotted into a liquid?  You can get it your own damn self._

Choo's head slid back into the basket.  Mell rolled he eyes.  "Fine," she muttered, reaching in after the cat to dig under the towels.  She yelped and snatched her hand back.  "Ow!"

_I'm sorry.  Did I forget to mention the "over my dead body" part?_

"Little bastard."

Choo leapt onto the table.  _Now there's no need to call people...mammals names.  He sat.  _You can finally hear me so listen up.  No more drinking, no smokes.  And you're damn lucky you not on drugs yet cause I'd whup your ass to Abu Dhabi if you were.__

Mell snorted and he ignored it.

_I'm Officer Kitty and you're clean from now on or I tell Gambit._

The girl snorted again and knelt on the floor.  She searched through the de-kittened basket.  "An ultimatum from a cat, how precious."

_You did Not make "precious" sound all purry!  The only purring in this apartment comes from yours truly.  _

There was a time of silence in which Mell found her vodka and Choo made some odd tapping noises with the computer.

_Now where's that send button again?_

She spit out the vodka and threw Choo across the room, very ticked off that he landed on his feet.  She stared at the computer.

***mell is a alcohlic and she smokes.   get you ass  over here and kick hers.  From choo - yes the cat    p. s. believe me or don't.  just scare her strayt.***

Hell, he even had the right address.  She deleted the email.  "I'm gonna skin you, Choo."

He sniffed, _So you believe the talking Choo is for real now?_

"No, I'm skinnin' you on principle."  She advanced on the cat, who backed away.  Then she smiled and stopped.  "If you tell Gambit den you don't get anymore lasagna."  Choo hissed and she went back to the computer.  She typed in a code and grinned as the alarm system came on.     

Mell grabbed her jacket off the chair and walked to the door.  Choo ran to block the door.  _Where you think you goin', girl?  _

"Where I always go," she replied and buckled her boots.

_You walk out this door and I email Gambit._

"Go ahead.  I locked de computer.  You try anyt'ing and three muscle men come in dis door packin'.  Dey've seen worse den a talkin' cat.  Dey got no qualms about shootin' kitty."

He managed to sigh somehow.  _If you don't come back before two, girl, I'll tell him anyway.  There's more to the Choo-Master than computer skills, he's got..."  Mell made a rude gesture and pulled open the door behind him sharply, squashing him between the door and the wall.  She laughed at his uncatlike yowl and walked out the apartment, shutting the door behind her.  She leaned against it and wondered if there was a psychiatrist she could visit without the LeBeaus finding out.  Then she shook her head.  Witches and werewolves would walk the earth before she found a shrink that was safe, at least one in Louisiana.  _

She started walking to the garage.  It was so normal for her to walk around all corners of the LeBeau complex at all times that when people saw her, they didn't take any notice of her.  It was one of the tricks her sister had been willing to teach her.  If you were scenery, you didn't stand out.  If that was true, than Mell might as well have been a potted plant.  The girl looked around at the plush hallway.  It had always confused her why the Thieves' Guild was so rich.  Normally, the best thieves -and assassins- Hell, basically any true underworld professional was independent or worked in really small teams -family businesses.  The LeBeau family ran the Guild, but they were more like Mafia in the way they did it.  Still, they didn't go near crime gang business like arms dealing and drugs.  It took money to have their kind of connections and...staff.  

Mell smiled and got into her car in the dark, deserted garage.  What the LeBeaus did for cash?  That was something she would find out only if paid enough to put her in a happy retirement -again.  To her, a happy retirement was one where you died of old age and not of a LeBeau bullet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Knave sat in front of the fire, trying to warm his aches away.  He felt a faint sense of irony that he was the world's largest supplier of the Blue Miracle -as people like to call it- and he would not use a drop of it for himself.  He touched his face, feeling its leathery toughness.  Jean-Luc had led a hard life.  His face was the only part of him that was allowed to show it.  His body seemed young and strong still, but it ached with old wounds he could not heal.  _Why_, the young doctor in his employ asked him.  _Why let yourself feel constant pain and move like a crippled old goat when you have dozens of way to heal yourself completely?  There is the Blue Miracle, of course, but if you want to save it for clients, then there are witches and mutants able to heal you as well._

The young man himself was one of those mutants.  He felt others' pain and considered the smallest ache in his clients an attack on his credibility and himself.  It was quite amusing to see the doctor hobble about when treating Knave, strengthening his organs and nothing else.  It was driving the boy mad, which pleased the King in a way.  He was of Remy's charity cases, the mutant.  He had been trying to make it through the system towards a doctor's degree.  He had made it to being a resident at local hospital and the pain of his patients was killing him.  He became a patient himself, slowly being murdered unknowingly by the wounded around him.  Of course, Remy had ran in and saved him, ruining the ending of a wonderfully tragic comedy.

How Remy had known was a mystery to the King.  Knave's son knew a lot of things he had no business knowing.  There was Mell, of course, but she knew nothing of mutants and the old human predators.  Who had told him was a mystery.  Remy had an enormous adopted family that only grew as the years dragged on.  Knave could barely keep up.  The mutant doctor and the half-werewolf were his most recent successes.  They were loyal to him as well as his son.  Mell, she was the problem child.  She hated Gambit, as she called his son.  It had seemed some bit of a miracle when she turned out to be the sister of that assassin he set on Remy years ago.  When Remy brought her back as an adoptive daughter -his first kid, as Knave recalled- the King had thought her an assassin in the making.  

Then he learned about her identity: the Black Widow.  Silly name, but it fit.  Internet hackers often called themselves spiders or surfers for obvious reasons.  Mell was the deadliest, the darkest, and the best hacker on the market.  She had CIA access, which was unheard of since she was still alive.  Saying you knew the CIA database was printing your own death certificate.  Knave was also certain she knew the LeBeau mainframe inside and out.  The reason he knew was that there was no trace of her in it.  The way he knew chose the hackers he employed was how difficult it was to find them in his system.  Everyone who knew hacking tried the LeBeau database.  It had records on secrets thousands of years old, locations of artifacts and people lost forever anywhere else.  There was nothing on mutants, vampires, magic, and the like of course.  You hid your secrets separately.  If some were discovered, you still had a few hidden; you still had the edge.

Mell didn't know of mutants.  That gave Knave the edge, some extra tools she wouldn't expect.  He knew what neither Mell nor his son knew.  He had kept that part of her genetic tests secret from Remy.  It was only a matter of time before it started to happen.  Remy had grown distant, too absorbed in his little wife to keep an eye on the girl.  Soon Mell would be frightened and confused by the changes inside of her and only Knave would be there to help her.  Then she would be his pet spider; her sources would be his sources.  He would be inside the government and who knew what other places.  The world had changed since his ancestors' time.  Knave -and his father to his four times great grandfather- had been trapped in New Orleans and a few carefully placed shadows.  America was different than France, Britain, Rome, and Egypt had been in their prime.  It was a hard shell to crack and worm into.  The LeBeaus didn't have the influence to control America's many and ever-changing leaders like some crime lords did.  It was damned hard to control a modern empire through shadows.  But it was the information age, and he who knew all the secrets and kept his was King.

The phone rang and Knave drew it from a pocket.  _*She's left the complex.*_

"Then follow the fille," he snapped.  He closed the cell and smiled.  In truth, he had suspected she would sneak out to some club that night.  It was Mell, after all.  She was young, suicidal, and about to go through some very interesting changes.  She was a teenager, a very special teenager."

Knave stood, grunting with pain.  In his own quarters he didn't bother to hide the pain.  Still, he smiled at the stiffness, the old scars on his heavily muscular form.  It might hurt, but thanks to Remy's mutant doctor, his organs were powerful and young.  His brain was quick.  Despite the pain and the age of his features, his body was easily as young as his son's.  Everything was going according to plan.  It was just a matter of time, which he had an eternity of.

***

Don't even think about asking about Shilf's human life or Knave's plan...or the talking cat if you didn't figure that one out.  I've got it covered.  I promise there will be loads of X-Men POVs in the chapters to come.  I just had to introduce some characters and get the plot rolling on this thing.      

Yes, no Romy -or Rogue or Remy- but what am I supposed to do, *another* dream scene?  They're frickin' unconscious...sleeping, whatever.  Point is: I have planned for Romy commencement in just a few chapters.  Thank you for sticking with me, if you could just wait a bit longer.  

***

Review Responses:  (I suggest people read all of these.  I try to make them self-explanatory so they don't seem like inside jokes.  I do try to make them jokes though.  I mean, I might answer your question in another person's review response.  It might as well be funny if you're going to do this extra reading.)  

**The Little Prophet:  You...read my Scott fic and you...you...want to...like Scott  **.**             **.**         ****.  GET THE TRANQUILIZERS!  I thought I warned you.  Don't read the Scott fic!  It brainwashes people.  Just tell me you aren't starting to like Jean  ****.           **.**        ****.  _RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!   Okay, back to ToS:  yes, Remy does seem like a "dick wad," drinking the vampire blood and all for a broken nose and a bum shoulder.  Still, he has his reasons.  I guess we'll find out what they are when Rogue pops the "Instantaneous healing?" question.  The vampire blood questions shall be answered when Remy confronts Merin about the whole thing, hopefully.  I mean, he does have to take Jimmie for a check-up (Merin is a doctor).  And Rogue isn't a vampire in any way, shape, or form.  Sorry, but it's not that sort of fic.  _**

**Nite Sky: Remy's father's name is Jean-Luc...yeah, right.  And Remy's real name is Gambit and Logan's real name is Wolverine and Rogue's real name is...never mind.  Point is: I mentioned Knave ****_WAS_ Jean-Luc somewhere...hold on...aha!  CH6 - Rogue's POV.              Remy: _"Non, I'm Jean-Luc LeBeau's son.  De world turned Jean-Luc into Knave_...yada.  Still, you reviewed for Chapter 5, so maybe you didn't read that part yet.  **

**Konstantynopolitanczykiewiczowna (Talk about a mouthful)****: Nope on any and all _"are they vampires?"_ queries.  As to why you can't sleep, you really don't want to ask me that question.  I might blather on about possible reasons for...yep, there I go.  _What has Darien done to Remy?_****  Um, gotta go...bye!  (Read on, oh curious and insanely long-named one)        **

**Queen of Hearts:  Yeah, I did spend a lot of time on vampires and on this chapter too.  Think of it as a very intensive and compact arc in my story.  It's going to Vampire City for a while, sometimes literally.  Still I'm trying to make it all as Evo: POV as possible.  But when the vampires get out of the picture, they're gone and some other arc shall begin.  I like this story; I could go on forever...after the Romy gets off its feet, of course.  I mean, I've got Lizzy, Cara, Darien, Knave, Jimmie, Merin, Mystique, Kitty, Kurt, and God knows who else waiting in the wings.  Good thing you guys like me.  I'd have killed me by now.     **


	18. De Return of Kath'rine

WARNING: ...Damn I'm tired of giving warnings...  **I posted the wrong chapter 17** the first time around.  I think most people figured that out, but gaah!  I checked it before and when I posted and it wasn't wrong then...sigh.

Forgive me.  To make it up, here's another chapter, and #17 has been fixed for you poor 100 or so early birds.  **READ #17 FIRST if you were so unlucky to be plagued by my stupidity.**

(And **forget anything in the former ch. 17**.  IF there was anything about Pietro, it was the wrong chapter.  Wrong fic -Not Applicable here.) 

***

**Thief of Spirits: **horribly done by _Eternity's Voice_

***

Chapter 18: De Return of Katherine 

***

*_Then follow the fille,* the King of thieves snapped, cutting the connection.  The young man on the other breathed heavily, a low feral rumble mixing in with the hiss of air.  Mystique recognized the sound and shook her head.  How had the LeBeaus bought the loyalty of a -for a lack of a better term- werewolf?  They didn't understand the concept of money, had no inkling whatsoever.  Once she'd seen a werewolf enter a shop and pay for a bit of jerky with a C-note.  In the twenties, 100 dollars could keep a roof over your head for weeks -if not months- and buy food besides; you didn't use it to pay for an afternoon snack.  No, it wouldn't be money that bought the young wolf.  Werewolves had a keen sense of honor and dues owed; they treated favors and good deeds like platinum.  Perhaps the young man owed the family a debt, but it was unlikely.  However, Mystique doubted a LeBeau was capable of the sort of godly works required to tear a werewolf away from his clan to go and work for another.  _

      The werewolf had hung up several seconds ago, she realized.  The mutant erased the musings from her head and went to work.  She destroyed all trace of her phone tap quickly.  She wasn't in deadly danger since she had listened through the lackey's cell, but the King had still been on the other line.  The woman had built up her network of computers too long just to have them all crash down on her permanently because a fifteen second tap as tracked.

That done, she leaned back in her chair in her office.  The room was comfortable and elegant, if built in a style an ancient Roman would have preferred.  She enjoyed the marble floor and artistic walls.  The mutant looked at one wall mosaic of a mother and child: herself and her daughter Raesha.  It was a reproduction of one from the age of the Roman Empire.  Supposedly, it was of the mother of all monsters, Echidna, and one of her terrible children.  The artist -and the subjects- knew better.  Mystique despised the Vatican for destroying the original.  She supposed it did look a little too much like the renderings of Madonna and her Holy infant, but with ebony skin and bat wings.  They couldn't have that, now could they?  Still, she hated them.  She hated anyone who insulted her children, even if only by destroying their images.

Mystique sighed.  It wasn't just the Vatican.  Humans as a whole had a tendency to call her children demons.  In the beginning, there had been no one willing to say it to her face, but as humans grew in numbers and gathered in cities rather than small clans, she became the one forced to flee.  Sometimes the child would be human -a non-mutant- or at least look like it.  For Mystique, it was worth the risk to live people and belong for a lifetime.  She rarely won that gamble, but then she tried again anyway.  She put a hand on her chest.  At least she had tried again, but no longer.  Her heart had suffered enough.  

Mystique shook the memories away, fighting to get back on task.  She briefly wondered if her mind was going senile after so many years of life.  She had always been able to focus on what needed to be done before, but recently, she was so easily distracted it seemed like just every other...

She groaned.  

"Follow the fille," she said aloud, repeating Knave's words.  She wished for once the enemy would make it easy for her.  Mystique despised guessing games.  She had gained certain proficiency with them but she detested them all the same.  They were difficult.  She suspected her brain had not been originally built for heavy thought, but she was too prideful too admit she might have been a Neanderthal.  She couldn't remember that far back, couldn't remember a time before she was an adult shapeshifter.  There had been the rearing of Echil, her darling boy, and before that...

"Follow.  The.  Fille."

There had been an agitated tone to Knave's voice; he was obviously preoccupied at the time of the call.  Still, there was something possessive and almost caring about how he said those words.  Mystique immediately discarded her Belle as the one the King talked of.  The "King" would do more then have her followed if _she_ disappeared into the night.  He'd arrange for her to be tracked down and dragged back -in a body bag, most likely.  In the old days, Mystique avoided the LeBeaus nearly as hard as she did the Night people.  But recently they'd grown like a cancer exploded from its tiny tumor to engulf the entire body.  Taken, they'd spread themselves thin and no longer manipulated Empires like pawns, but they were everywhere.  She couldn't afford completely ignore them like she had centuries ago; she needed every little detail.  So she knew of Knave's problem with strong women.  

From what Irene had told her, her little Belle was quite intimidating.  Mystique sighed.  She could only hope...

Mystique eyed the hard wood of the desktop and promptly smashed her head into it.  **"Follow.  The.  Fille," **she muttered, accenting each word with the clunk of skull on mahogany.  Strangely, the childish tactic worked and her head cleared.  She sat back up, wincing slightly, and then went to work on the computer.  

The women pulled up her network of cameras around New Orleans.  Granted, most of them were just privately owned security systems she hacked into, but she did have a hand in some of the more unusual locations.  In moments, she had access to every camera watching the routes away from LeBeau complex.  She closed the sewer and catacomb routes; the person she was looking for would take a more conventional path.  

After a few minutes of playing back the recordings of the streets, she saw a shiny black something flash by on the northbound alley cam.  Mystique froze the image and backtracked to a fancy German car driven at least three times the speed limit by a young woman -or a girl.  It was hard to determine an age.  She was either a young looking twenty year old or a teenager smoking and drinking her youth away.

The Blue woman followed the girl's path by camera, saving certain shots such as the license plate and a good picture of the "fille's" face and outfit.  Her clothes made it obvious where she was going.  

Mystique smiled: mystery solved.  That girl with permanently windswept russet hair and desolate eyes was the "fille."  Only two questions remained.  Who was she and just how important was she to Knave LeBeau?  _Didn't matter and important enough, she thought dispassionately._

She switched to a different set of cameras.  Kurt stood on the ceiling of his bedroom, counting abdominal crunches.  _*Ein hundert acht...und-vierzig, ein...hundurt neun-und-vierzig...*_ Mystique shook her head, remembering the slacker he had been in school.  Being the school principal of the opposition -if only for a short time- had given her an interesting glimpse into their habits.  Mr. Wagner suffered from boredom and often.  She shook her head again.  It was amazing how often people turned to physical exertion when boredom threatened their sanity.  

The woman turned her gaze to the other X-Man currently under her wing, clicking Kurt away.  The screen suddenly showed an action film, some expert stuntwoman careening a motorcycle through area that resembled a skateboard park from Hell.  She fought the powerful urge to roll her eyes at the thought.  Being the principal was a good tactical move, but it had exposed her to too many teenage habits and mannerisms.  At least Katherine had dropped the "like"s.  It would have driven her mad to hear that non-stop.  

She watched Katherine fly the motorbike up a ramp and into the air, then land twenty feet later on a narrow walkway suspended high in the air.  She popped a wheelie up there before driving the bike off the other edge to neatly land on the downward curve of a slope 

Mystique decided Katherine had behind a bike once or twice.  It never ceased to surprise her that sweet Kitty could handle herself.  It certainly didn't shock her that Katherine could though.  Katherine shot with deadly accuracy and was essentially invincible.  The girl had taken the motorcycle obstacle course fast the first time.  She crashed and burned, pulled herself out of the floor, and got back on.  Then she crashed and burned twenty more times.  Then she got it and had been experimenting and testing the limit ever since.  Perhaps the lack of fear allowed her to learn so quickly.  It wasn't as if she had to worry about steering into a wall.    

The Blue woman told the computer to print the shots of the fille she had selected and closed the message which said her cross-reference search had found nothing on Knave's fille.  The mutant had expected as much.  As the printer whirred and began to smell of burning ink, she watched Katherine's ride, searching for flaws.  She decided her pupil took corners too carefully.  She could afford to slow down less and do it later in the curve.

Mystique pressed a button.  "Clean up and come to my office.  Wear something suitable for a night on the town."  She didn't need to say the outfit should be acceptable for combat as well.  The girl knew better than to show up in a skirt or heels.  She had taken to teaching well.  The woman smiled; quite well.  She had a feeling if Katherine ever found her way back to her Institute, most of her wardrobe would fly out the window shortly thereafter, followed by a burning pink sweater.

***

Katherine docked the strange custom motorcycle in a hanger that reminded her of the Institute's -minus the jet.  The girl tried to kick herself for thinking of home -no, not home.  After a bit, she found that it was physically impossible to kick more than a bit of leg and ankle, even counting the fact that she could pass the foot through certain parts of her body to get at others.  Well, technically she could nick the butt or her head if she tried, but it wasn't the same as a knock it to Timbuktu soccer punt.  Defeated, she settled for booting the helmet she had decided not to wear across the underground hangar and yelling, "Damn it, Katherine!"

She froze and looked down at her foot.  She had called herself Katherine.  It was strange to connect herself with that name again.  How many times had she told herself Katherine was dead?  _Far too many times to make the transition back easy, she muttered silently.  She pulled off the lightly armored jacket that was supposed to protect her from impact with the ground.  It had turned out to be useless, _unless it counted as a fashion statement_.  Katherine shoved Kitty back into her grave in a mental litter box and tried again.  It had turned out to be useless because of her power._

As the girl walked away she smiled.  At the Institute -yes, the "I" word- her abilities were called a mutation, a gift, and -secretly- a curse.  There was something comforting about calling it a power though; it made her feel like some comics hero with an excellent fan base.  There was a silent promise that her writers would never kill her off without a hasty resurrection.  Yes, it was very comforting.

In the sprawling mass of grandiose luxuries she called her room, Katherine felt her shoulder sag with relief.  She knew there were cameras somewhere around watching her and that the beautiful set of rooms could easily become a prison if the Blue Bitch pressed a button, but it still seemed like a sanctuary.  Mystique's lair...base -whatever it was, overwhelmed her.  It made the Danger Room seem like a child's toy and put grand palaces to architectural shame without trying.  Fortunately, the apartment around her looked like her old home; the one in southern Illinois, not Chicago.  It even had the same creamy paint on smooth walls.

Katherine touched the wall, remembering.  It had been a woodsy backwater place with roads that could be traveled for days before you found another car -or motorcycle.  She smiled, thinking of Uncle Jason.  When she was little he had roared down the mile-long drive way in what her Dad called the Damn Train-Engine.  He called all Harleys that.  For some reason he didn't like the sound the bikes made.  Katherine loved it; she always ran out to meet her Uncle when she heard the sound.

It was Uncle Jason that had taught her to ride a bike.  He'd offered to baby-sit her for two weeks while her parents took a second honeymoon/sanity vacation and, well...he wasn't the most responsible person.  She'd been twelve and Jason took her out on his bike.  One thing led to another and -after a few bets and begs- she was steering.  Or she was in front of him on the bike, anyway.  In two weeks she was steering and even driving alone for short distances.  Then her parents came home and her Dad just about killed Jason.  In any case, her Uncle came in a car the next time he visited.  He and Katherine still remembered the fun they had on the roads though.  Katherine smiled.  Come to think of it, Uncle Jason owed her a Harley.  He'd bet her one if she could drive by herself without dying, strewn out on the pavement.  Well, she hadn't died and was still Harley-less.

She took her hand off the wall.  Memory lane wasn't where she was supposed to be at the moment.  The girl ghosted through the shower door, leaving her clothes on the other die.  Mystique had rubbed off on her; she no longer thought of it as phasing but as ghosting, like she were some specter walking through the walls of a haunted mansion.

When she felt clean, Katherine passed back through the shower door, leaving the water on her body and in her hair on the other side.  _Ah, the usefulness of such power.  I never have to endure damp hair on my silk shirts again._

She was aware of the cameras as she walked into the closet wearing nothing but tattoos.  Even though the pain and numbness was gone, she imagined she could feel the thorny ink vines from the back of her neck to her pelvis.  It was impressive, but she hoped no one would see enough of her body to view the tattoo in its entirety.  Katherine remembered the cameras and winced.  

She dressed quickly, choosing an elegant blue tank and black leather pants -in no way shiny.  On an impulse, the girl dropped into a split, a move vaguely reminiscent of her long abandoned Olympic gymnast phase.  The pants moved easily with her legs.  The waistline didn't shift a millimeter from its spot at her hips.  Curious, she pulled a similar pair of pants from a shelf.  There seemed to be some extra stitching at the crotch that let the thing move and stretch like a pair of tights.  She felt briefly annoyed that regular low-riders didn't come with that lovely feature.  Real life wasn't a Buffy episode.  Pants, even those made of clingy material like leather, sagged when you bent down.  It was a nuisance to hitch up pants on the middle of a dance floor.  Or in the middle of a fight, hence the Professor's liberal use of spandex.

"I'm wearing a pair of these out of here," she muttered.  "I'm done with wearing spandex on missions."  The uniform Xavier had provided her was ungodly.  She would die if people saw her in that thing.  Katherine blinked.  What had the Fairfield hospital staff thought when she was brought in wearing tattered spandex?  She heaved a sigh, thankful she didn't live near anywhere near Fairfield, Mississippi.

The girl grabbed a chocker that matched the ear-clasp which hid her presence from the Professor.  How, she didn't know, but Mystique was vague that way.  All she knew was that taking it off meant, if not death for her, then torture for Kurt.  Ready, she looked in the mirror.  _Alvers, eat your heart out.  God knows only you'd enjoy seeing me like this._  She turned walked away, knowing she had lied.  A part of her liked the new Katherine too.

She froze in the doorway to the hall; she had almost forgotten.  Katherine rushed back to her discarded, very sweaty clothes and pulled a small folded piece of paper from a pants pocket.  "Can't abandon you," she murmured before sprinting out into the hall.

Katherine reached the hallway of Mystique's office a little out of breath.  She stopped and inhaled deeply, then slowly let it out.  It wasn't enough, but she didn't want to stop and catch her breath.  A thought occurred to her and she started walking, not bothering to breathe.  At first her brain panicked, ordering her to inhale, but she overcame the instinct, allowing the air to simply pass through her chest and out through her back.

Pryde allowed a small smile; now she really was a ghost.  It seemed small but that little decision had been on her mind for some time.  Katherine didn't feel like a Shadowcat anymore, despite the panther on her arm.  Kitty was the cat and she couldn't go back to being a sweet little kitten.  A ghost -yes, she could be a ghost.  Specters could be a lot more frightening than a kitty, which was what she was aiming for.  Something the Blue Bitch had said stuck a chord with her.  A woman who looked ready to kill didn't have to shoot the gun.  A girl who looked dangerous didn't have to hurt others.  

If it was winter and she wanted to protect some woman from a gunman, all Katherine had to do was walk through the wall, get shot at, and not breathe steam into the air.  The guy would most likely freak, scream dead girl, and run away.  That would be superhero business; that would be making a difference.  That would be the perfect alibi.  Let the bad guys run around abandoned warehouses with exorcising charms; she would sit at Starbucks and drink a latte.

That was what she wanted to do: go back to Chicago, or maybe New York, and fight the bad guys.  God knew the world needed real superheroes; even ordinary people with a little help in the Kick Evil's Ass department could make a difference.  Katherine shook her head a little; and she said Kurt read too many comic books.  She straitened her posture and walked through the door to Mystique.  She could do the dream of superheros later; she had to survive the nightmare of the Blue Bitch first.       

"Breathe, Katherine.  It is disconcerting," Mystique commanded after a moment, turning around in her seat.  The stone U-shaped chair and marble walls, floor, ceiling -basically the entire room made the girl feel like she'd fallen asleep during History class again.  She blinked at the woman, and then said matter-of-factly, "I believe that's the point." 

Despite her cynicism, she started to take breaths again and went to look at the papers Mystique had set upon the desk, supposedly for her.  It wasn't much: a license plate, the car with that plate, the girl driving that car with that plate, the place where that girl parked that car with that plate -a club, and so on.  There wasn't a single shred of a hint as to who the girl was or what Mystique wanted her to do about her.  Katherine picked up a photo of the mystery femme's face, quipping, "And this is..."

"A fille," Mystique replied smoothly.

Katherine made a noise with her nose that was just a little too short to be called a snort.  "Yes, that's very helpful.  Let's ask this differently: Is this why you dragged me to New Orleans?  Who is she?"

"No and I have no idea."

Katherine laughed darkly, "Only you can be that straightforward and stay cryptic.  Okay, what do you want me to do concerning this girl you don't know anything about and has nothing to do with why I'm here?"  She picked up a different photo and memorized the license plate number.

"The girl isn't important; it's whose fille she is that counts."  Mystique pulled a file folder out of a drawer and plopped it on the desk.  Curious, the girl opened it.  A photo of a middle aged man was stapled to the inside of the folder.  His body looked youthful, but the face showed a few signs of age.  There was a hard, almost fake quality in the eyes and a permanent scowl around the mouth that kept him from being breathtaking, but it was a close thing.  Then again, photos didn't tell the truth.  Her yearbook photo was a case in point.  

A caption underneath the picture read, _Jean-Luc "Knave" LeBeau, "King of Thieves," head of criminal organization: Thieves Guild -c 3600._

"C thirty-six hundred?"  Katherine asked.

"Circa thirty-six hundred years," the woman explained.  "Their organization is that old."  Katherine whistled and Mystique shook her head.  "Don't be surprised, Katherine.  There are many things older than an ancient bloodline of thugs."

"Like you?" Pryde asked sarcastically.

"Exactly."

The girl's brow creased, and then she stated, "I was joking."

"I wasn't."  Mystique gestured to the room about her.  "As you can see, my tastes are rather old as well."

It took Katherine a minute, but the woman's expression was so final that she actually believed the claim.  It would certainly explain a lot if the Blue Bitch turned out to be old as dirt.  "Does it get lonely?" she asked suddenly.

Mystique closed her eyes and shoved the collection of papers closer to Katherine.  "That is off the subject at hand.  To do what I want of you, you need to be inside this organization -at the top.  This girl, whoever she is, means a lot to Knave, though believe me, it will be nothing affectionate.  She is likely very useful in some capacity to him and this man doesn't want to lose her.  Get close if you can, learn anything you can: name, age, anything I can use to find an identity.  If the chance to save her life comes up, jump on it.  

"Indebt Knave to you and get into the Thieves Guild -as close to the Family as you can.  I will contact you with your real mission then."  She opened her desk and found a box, putting it in on the table as well.  "Room key, identity, fake ID -yes there's a difference, driver's license, keys to a motorcycle -try to drive sanely, a few items I want you to hide in your hotel room, and a present."

Katherine sighed; curiosity killed the cat.  She opened the box and peeked in.  Her mouth worked for a minute.  She shut it again quickly.  "Hell, no."

"Katherine..."

She shoved it back across the table.  "You are not putting me on the Pill because _that _is not happening!"

"Open the box, Miss Pryde," the woman demanded.

Miss Pryde crossed her arms and took a step back.  

There was a very tense silence.

Mystique finally moved, looked to the heavens, then stretched and discolored a bit until a very large, hairy man loomed above the girl, even when seated.  Unconsciously, Katherine took another step back.  It was Logan crossed with a lion with three, maybe four extra feet of height.  "Believe me, girl," she...he uttered, "If that was my plan, you would have gotten a great deal of experience beforehand."  He leapt from the seat over her to a place very close to her neck.  "The hard way," he added unnecessarily.  

Katherine spun around.  Mystique was back -completely serene with not a hair out of place.  Somehow, though, she seemed a lot more deadly than she had just a minute ago.  "What was that?" Pryde whispered.

"My firstborn," Mystique replied motherly.  "He gifted me with dozens of grandchildren."

"I can't imagine how," Katherine muttered dryly, and then noticed what seemed to be a vein fighting to break out of a blue forehead.  She ghosted just before a blue fist smashed into her face.  

"Echil was honorable," Mystique snarled.  "He devoted his life to the protection of his father's people.  He fought against predators you should pray to your feeble God that you never meet.  My son did not bond if there was not love and he was honorable about those promises.  He merely lived for a very long time, until his death."

The woman withdrew her hand from her pupil's brain.  "The pills are something to place in the bathroom -one of the items for your alias, though I suggest you start to take them religiously, before you learn how persuasive boys can be.  Open the box, Katherine.  I believe your present is in the form of a wrapped gift."

"Oh."

Mystique's eyes rolled about a quarter ways around their sockets before she stopped herself.  "I'll be keeping tabs on you, giving information when I can.  I believe my "family emergency" has just about expired and I must return to Bayville."  She paused for a moment, then asked, "Should I give you send you a report on how they are dealing with the disappearance?"

Katherine froze.  She looked into gentle, yellow eyes.  In a way, she felt surprised the Blue Bitch would bother.  In another, she hadn't thought what her friends and family must be going through.  Search parties were combing the entire state, she decided, but Xavier would think that was pointless.  If the metal on her ear really hid her from mental searching, he would think she was dead.  Kurt too, she realized.

After a minute of silence, she sighed and answered, "No.  When, if I go back, I don't want to know about how they feel.  I have this feeling that things will be easier if I can just say I was kidnapped and managed to get away with Kurt.  It will be true too, if I edit out some very large chunks.  But if I slip and talk about something I have no business knowing, there will be questions.  And they'll want to know about those parts I left out.  Whatever I'm doing for you, I don't want them to know about it.  No, I'll find out if they tell me."

The woman placed a hand on her shoulder.  "It was a hard choice to make, and you made a wise decision."

Katherine gathered the box and the files in her arms, and then turned back to Mystique.  "If I..." she began.  The woman waited, eerily patient.  "If I die, or want to...make it seem that I did..."

Mystique smiled softly, and Pryde was surprised and faintly touched to see the killer fangs had vanished for her benefit.  "If you are killed or choose to fake such a thing, Kurt Wagner will get lucky and "escape" back to your Institute.  I suppose you'll be forced to trust me on this, but you have my word."

Katherine blinked, yet again.  "Do you always have mood changes like this?"

The woman arched an eyebrow.  "Do you want to find out?"

She shook her head and hurried out the room, not bothering to use the door.

Katherine stood impatiently in the elevator as it took her up.  She eyed the camera in the corner balefully.  The little L lit up and she walked out into a hotel lobby.  She opened the box and put the file and photographs inside, taking out a room key, driver's license, fake ID, leather wallet, coat check card, valet ticket, and the "present."  The thing held a surprising amount of items.  She pushed the lid shut and there was an odd whirring noise.  She tried to open it again, but it was locked.  Knowing Mystique, the entire thing was probably lined with adamantium.  The girl tested it, pushing a finger through the bottom of the box and out again.  Well, at least she could get into it if no one else could.  That was a good thing, she supposed. 

A bright, if tired looking woman behind a desk asked, "May I help you, Mademoiselle?"  Her accent was horrible, and Katherine wasn't even French.  

Something over came her and she stood up tall.  In an authoritative voice, she commanded, "Yeah.  1: my coat," she tossed the coat check on the desk, "2: Directions to Club Mist.  3: Put this heap of junk in your safe," she dumped it on the desk to and gave her driver's license a stealthy glance and then hid her grimace, "Put it in for Katherine Wagner.  5: Send someone for my bike," she brandished the valet ticket, "It's in space B-42.  4: Don't argue with me about hotel policy.  And 5: Go home, get some sleep, and practice your accent.  It's horrible."

Katherine thought she heard a young man cry "hear hear!" from inside the hotel restaurant.  If she did, he was quickly silenced.  The woman just stood there like some store mannequin.  Her eyebrows finally slammed together and she opened her mouth.  At that exact moment, a man in hotel livery rushed over and murmured heatedly into her ear.  The desk lady froze again, then smiled a very much too wide smile.  "Right then.  'Pologies for tha troubles, Lady Wagner.  Only a mattah a' time, you know... Twill just be a minute."  She babbled on like that for two minutes while Katherine stared before the man shoved her towards the safe with the box.

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Wagner.  She is...new help."  He looked after the woman's receding form -still babbling- in a way that said she wouldn't be new help, or an employee at all, much longer.  He was very helpful, which she didn't understand in the least.  Fancy hotels were absolute snobs to younger people.  Normally, she was the dirt attacking the hem of an heiress' fur coat.  Now...  The man held out a very expensive leather jacket for her to slip into.  "Duchess Wagner?"  Katherine hid a smirk.  Now she was the heiress.  The girl considered not thinking of Mystique as the Blue Bitch anymore as a thank-you gift, but then couldn't think of a better nick-name, so she dropped the idea.

"How was London?"

"Boring," she replied immediately.  "Why else am I in New  Orleans?  Club Mist?"  He gave her directions and led her out to a waiting motorcycle, thankfully identical to the one she had practiced on.  She straddled it and slid Mystique's present into a pocket at the machine's side.  She would open it later

"May I commend you on your accent?  It is quite believable," he said as she tossed him the helmet she wouldn't use.

"Yes, it is better than hers, isn't it?"  The man's lip twitched.  Katherine smirked back.  Yes, the old Katherine.  The untamed, powerful, sarcastic Katherine of biting remarks and wild antics had returned.  Kitty suffocated in her gave within the litter box, never to be heard of again. 

As she drove through the streets, maybe just a little too fast, a rich voice filled one ear.  _*Having fun, are we?  Turn left here.  Only rabble goes through the main entrance.*_

"I always wanted to be a princess," she laughed, concentrating on the tight curve.  

*Sorry to disappoint you, but the Duchess Wagner will have to do.  And just so you don't make a fool of yourself and the name you borrow, the Duchy –or what's left of it- is in Bavaria: a State of Germany.  Your father Eric is diseased, as well as your mother and brother.  Your father wasn't on good terms with your mother before his death, and you do not speak her name.  The boy died as a babe, before he was named.*

Then the woman's voice was gone, leaving Katherine with food for thought.  There was -or had been- a Wagner Duchy in Germany.  Was it possible that Kurt, the foreign Fur Ball...was the nameless baby.  Was he a Duke?                

***

The Battle of the invisible but **_Deadly Legions of Hell_ and _me,_ which insignificant mortals merely call the **Semester Final** is coming inexorably nearer.  This -paired with a frightening case of writer's block the size of which doctors have never known- is forcing me to put the **fic on hiatus** (like I was updating lightning quick anyways) until the 2nd Semester of my school begins - around **_Jan 27_**.  **

Let me put it this way: if I don't maintain a 3.85 GPA or higher, you won't be hearing from me for a long time, as I will be dead.  Overachiever-ness expectations suck.  

I must go now and prepare for battle.  I must win this fight.  Or flee; yes... flee is good, very good.  But how can I run from such might?  Fight or flee, fight or flee...  Dammit!  Why must my entire future -and ultimately the future of us all- depend upon this one fight?  And, if by some miracle, I should overcome the impossible odds and beat back the enemy, how soon until they again break their bonds and again seethe from demonic portals to surround me, armed only with a #2 pencil and an illegal bottle of white-out?

....aaaannd that's a wrap.  Bad, bad, BAD me.  Still no Romy, but at least I used X-Men characters this time.  You have to give me points for that...or not.  

Anyway, apologies for the chapter mix-up.  At least those of you who were inflicted got to read two chapters.  And don't worry, Remy and Rogue shall return.  They will wake up in the morning.  It's just going to be a Very long night.  Just how long can I make it?  Very.  Just watch me extend it, count the minutes down to 0'dark hundred, then turn back the clock and start over in a different POV and then do it over and over...twice!  Then I'll give a character a time machine and let her go back again and again and again and...     

Yes I'm stalling, Dammit!  I don't wanna study!  Do...Don't come a...a step closer, Fu...Functions notebook!  I'll torch you, I swear!  Is that...my lighter!  In pieces!  I'll tear you apart!  ...No...no!  I didn't mean it!  I'll be good, I'll study every night...I'll...NO!  Not my creative writing journals...sob!  They were my babies, my only light in a world of unending darkness...  I'm gonna kill...Let me go!  Help meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee... 

Yes, I must study now.  Extra long review responses next chapter.  A shining note: I will have another study hall period next semester, bringing the grand total to **one**.  I will also have one less class and gym instead of a homework handing out class.  In layman's terms:  I will -hopefully- have time to write more come late January.  Yes...I'm **still stalling.  Goodbye...hopefully not forever...but if I do not survive...I love you guys!  **

Okay, I'm done now...no I'm not.  Yes...I....AM!!!!!  

Or am I? 

;-P          

      


	19. De Club

Yo.  I'm back, and my GPA is good.  I am so sick of this chapter; I've messed it up more times than I can remember.  So, I'm back and here is the next chapter, good or bad.  I'll just let you decide.  

***

Katherine wandered into the club, onto the floor.  It seemed the best way to do it; like the wonder of bodies and lights around her was only of passing interest.  Music reverberated through her and she unwillingly began to dance, at least at first.  It took her and that happy feeling filled her, so she danced to the beat.  Did the words even matter, she thought, or were they just background?  

She just danced for a time, reveling in her dream of the adult club.  If she had known it was so simple, she would have faked her way inside sooner.  Everyone seemed so alive and wild.  It was a dream come true.  Then a man stumbled into her, dead drunk and drooling.  She shoved him away and made a sickened face.  She ghosted the rotten smelling slobber through her bare arm onto the floor.  She stared at it a moment: a semisolid, golden colored goop.  It was some wake-up call.  With new eyes, Katherine watched the adults around her.  

People slid around her or clung to her shadow, hoping for something.  Wasn't it enough for them to feel the throbbing base tingle the air in their lungs?  No, the music meant nothing to them, just the people.  They would never dance alone, never just dance.  They were unhappy because of that, she could tell.  

It was a tool to them, music.  The more she saw of the world, the more everything was a tool, including her.  Despite the music, she was Mystique's tool.  Katherine opened her eyes and drew her mind from the beat, though not her body.  As she danced, her gaze roamed the people around her, looking for the person only known as Knave's fille.  

She navigated through the mass, all of them people trying to get something tangible out of the music.  She avoided people with dilated pupils and too jerky movements.  She waved away free drinks and other such traps.  She wove around male wolves and girls drunk enough to forget they were hetero.

They were all sickening.  The clubbers weren't dancing; they were trying to have an orgy.  Katherine blinked, realizing it was a religious schoolgirl thing to think, but that was what it seemed like to her.  Was this what adult clubs were like -alcohol, drugs, and sex-craved lunatics?  Then she slid a little farther away from the bar, and she ran into the change in atmosphere like a brick wall.  

Three girlfriends laughed as they swung their hips at no one in particular and talked over the music about a chess match.  A young man sat at a booth, sweet talking a handsome thirty-something year old.  He chatted energetically, waving a beer bottle around that had maybe one half-hearted sip taken out of it.  The older listener seemed a little uncomfortable, but the boy's pure charisma put his fears at ease.  Something told Katherine the two men were becoming more than just friends.  Couples danced, and they truly were couples.  She saw no few matched wedding and engagement rings.

Katherine moved through the next barrier.  At first she thought it was the first set of people again; she quickly changed her mind.  All around her, the dancers were nice, but lonely.  Many of them were older, less attractive, or at least less scantily dressed.  Beyond them sat the wallflowers, getting drunk.  Occasionally, a person from what Katherine dubbed the Wolves' section would stalk over to them and leave dragging along a reasonably desirable, reasonably wasted partner.

A vixen dressed in an outfit hiding little more than -well, a transparent G-string, pulled a bewildered, Asiatic looking fellow back into her throng.  His friends looked after them jealous.  Katherine looked on too, with barely concealed pity.  She silently bet three grand that the guy was underage.  And a virgin, she added after a moment.  "Like, like knows like," she murmured sarcastically, purposely overusing the L word.

There was a low chuckle in her ear.  Apparently, Mystique thought the stupid sentence was funny.  Then again, the Blue Bitch was warped, so who could blame her?

Katherine looked about and decided that the best place to look for the girl and not look like a woman on a mission was to play the wallflower -sort of.  She didn't quite want to describe how she descended on the young men still staring after the near-naked woman.  At least it wasn't as bad as the redhead's slither.  There was something unnatural about that movement, not quite human.  When Kurt did some of his acrobatics and wall crawls with the holographic illusion of normalcy on, he seemed like he was ...something wearing human skin.  She seemed like that, a viper in vixen's clothing.

With supreme effort, Katherine managed to garner the gawkers' attention.  Supreme effort was defined as leaping on top of their table and leaning against the wall from there.  As they stared up at her, the girl had a realization of monumental proportions: Asian guys were cute.

As she flipped her hair back behind her head, Katherine mentally stuffed Kitty back under the litter box, then locked it in a crate, put that in a series of three safes, and dumped it all into the imaginary shark-infested ocean.  

_I mean, seriously, they are totally cute.  Check those eyes!_        

Unfortunately, the Kitty persona was turning out to be a regular Droopy Dog.

Katherine tucked a stray hunk of hair behind her ear, secretly glad she had opted for the ponytail-less look.  It gave her something pointless to do so she wouldn't ruin her character instead.  Hand on hip, she bent down and put her head on same level as her audience.  With the other hand, she tilted down her mirror sunglasses -a wonderful little gadget courtesy of Mystique's goody bag.  "Don't you like to dance?" she purred, aware her panther tattoo was in full view.

Silence.  Rearing back up to lean against the wall, she replied, "Shame."  She smirked and pulled the shades back up.  Voila.  The dark atmosphere of the club was bright as day.  As the boys gawked and discussed what to do in what she figured was rapid Japanese, she swept her gaze over the dancers, looking for the girl that matched her photos.  The extra three feet of height given to her via wallflower table was a definite help.  

She'd identified the fille's car in the parking lot.  Another of Mystique's darling presents had gone behind that little door that hid the car's fuel cap, a place Katherine doubted people looked for tracking devices.  Technically, she had no clue about such things, but Mystique had deemed it a good choice.  The woman was -supposedly- keeping an eye on the signal.  As long as the girl left in that car, Katherine would be able to know if she left and follow her.

She considered stifling the sigh, but let it loose instead, sending her boys into a twitter.  She almost wished the girl would leave so she could play tag instead of hide-and-seek.  The fille was a needle hidden within a piece of straw somewhere in a barn of haystacks.

`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~ 

Emma slid back into her seat, pulling her shoulders forward slightly.  The movement was tiny, but in nothing but lingerie it made her breasts look twice their abnormal size.  _Sexual Weapons 101, rule number one: Do it subtly, make it obvious._  The thought made her smile and she directed pearly grin of seductive perfection at the horrid man across the long table.  _Rule number two: Make use of every opportunity.  Waste not, want not.  _

The young woman decided she would include such a class at her academy next semester.  She might even go so far as to make it a requisite for graduation among her more lovely male students.  Finals would be a joy to oversee.  Yes, a wonderful idea.  She would start work on it immediately when she returned to Massachusetts.

"An interesting costume," the ugly bastard drawled terribly, trying to make small talk.  "Something I would expect down there.  He gestured to his right and Emma glanced sidelong lazily.  Club Mist was shown in all its gaudy glory through that glass, though the throng couldn't peer back at them.  She immediately disliked the man; she had already not liked him, and now she could barely stand to be alone in the same room with him.  His thoughts were tawdry and disgusting.

The other half of her business meeting had his office overlooking the dance floor of the most infamous club in town so he could look down on them all and smugly call himself better.  He was nauseating.  "Required uniform, I'm afraid," she replied silkily.  Alighting from the black leather seat, she strolled to the dark pane of glass, aware that he was gawking at her rear end.  She didn't even need telepathy to know he was -or a brain at all, for that matter.  She saw it in the glass's reflection.  

Emma didn't bother to study her own lovely visage staring back at her with seductively slit eyes.  It was petty and she knew her own body better than every man who had been allowed in her bed put together, times twenty.  Instead, she looked down at the people.  She noticed the drug abusers immediately and looked away, mentally forcing herself not to cringe.  

***Damn it Christian, you idiot.  What's the use of this telepathy if I can't reach into that feeble mind of yours and shatter it?  Fool!  You can't even hear me and I'm thinking right at you, Bastard.  Well, you're fried, warped up by all your pretty pills.  But what do you care?  Good old Daddy can't yell at you anymore for trying to be an artist.  He was right, you know; your paintings were shit.  I burned your portrait of me.***

In his little padded box, Christian made no response.  He never did.    

She shifted her gaze around.  People like Christian herded close to the bar and the door.  They were out for a good time, but doing it in such stupid ways that they needed a quick way out.  Then, away from the drinks and the exit was that happy little clique that pervaded every dark place.  Innocent people danced around, oblivious to the evil around them.  They were just dancing, talking, having a night on the town that would end before the clock struck twelve and Cinderella found her Prince Charming was anything but in some dark ally.

The third group, last of the holy Club Trinity, was the loners.  They also massed by the bar to drown their sorrows and down bottled courage, but kept as far from the door as possible.  They were afraid they would get thrown out of the club at any moment.

An odd person sticking out in the mix caught Emma's attention.  Someone stood up upon a table, an enormous rose among a field of diminutive daisies.  Interest peaked; she reached out and found a whole bouquet of nothing.  No secret desires, no dirty little secret, no emotions, not even surface thoughts --no anything.  She could feel a presence, but only because she knew exactly where to look.  A foot left or right and she would have noticed nothing.  The White Queen eyed the shadow on the wall of the dark club critically.  Surely she wasn't seeing a phantom or other such nonsense.  

She noticed a few figures sitting in the booth surrounding the girl or woman.  Like a cold wind, she drifted in and looked at one's mind, which was currently staging what she supposed was the Japanese rendition of the "Catholic School Girl."  Emma sat and watched; she really didn't have anything else to do.  The boy was original -she had to give him that, though many of his partner's positions were anatomically impossible and he obviously had very little clue about what he was fantasizing about.  The girl flipped her hair -the first realistic action he had her perform, and her face became apparent.

Emma laughed and didn't stop.  The bastard in the office looked at her oddly, but she snapped her fingers and knocked him into a state of thankfully silent bliss.  Tears started to form in her eyes and she threw her head back to keep the glistening salt from running down her face.

Katherine, little Kitty Pryde; how far she was from the little Chicago suburb of Deerfield.  

Emma frowned and tapped the glass, her nail seeming to strike the girl in the chest, hard.  _Bitch, she thought, remembering her little excursion to Chicago the last summer_._  It was supposed to be a simple recruiting: enamor the parents, fill out the proper forms, get back to real business.  Things hadn't turned out so easy.  Kitty had seemed eager to go along with it all.  Then, two days before the Academy's school year started, Emma had received a call from the little bitch in person._

Kitty had informed the woman of exactly where she could shove her school, among many other things.  It surprised Frost, but it was hardly something she unprepared for.  Then the girl had set off the atomic bomb: she had called Emma a drug addict.  

Emma pounded the glass, seeming to squash the girl that she couldn't touch with her mind.  '**A drug addict, like Christian.'**

She had spent the next weeks in an insane rage, barely holding back the urge to fly to Deerfield and kill the girl, or at least hire someone who would do it slow.  She'd managed somehow by taking her anger out on her students and beginning her habit of one-sided mental arguments with her straightjacketed brother.  Emma had told herself revenge would be sweet, but then it had been taken out of her reach.  A telepath had taken the bitch under his wing: none other than Charles Xavier.  She had burned them both at the stake in her dreams.

But, now the girl wasn't with the Professor, and Emma was.  Her sources said Xavier had been in New Orleans for a short while, then left -obviously without his kitten.  Frost took a step back from the one-way window.  It all seemed too perfect; she needed someone to get close and verify it was Kitty and that she was alone.  She hadn't gotten where she was in the world without learning about traps.           

Emma pulled a cell phone from a place on her person -from only she and God knew where- and punched a number.  Angelica's bubbly voice answered immediately.  _*Miss Frost?*_

"Firestar, there is someone-"

_*Forget it, Ice Queen,* _a thundering woman shot at her, and then the cell went dead, completely dead.  Emma hurled the useless piece of technological junk into the wall, enraged.  A trace was impossible.  Whoever the Hell had done that was on her blacklist, and she wanted to find out who.  Calming down, Emma quickly made her decision.  She would stay in New Orleans a while and hire the aid of just the right person for the job.  No one got the better of the White Queen.  It sounded so cliché, but it was her motto.  The Black Widow would find her what she needed, the woman on the phone would speak for the last time, and little Kitty would leave with her, declawed and collared.                      

`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~

Mell danced, willingly pulled around by the wave of happy, crazy people.  She danced in front of so many guys, glad that the darkness hid the Plain Jane that was she.  She swung in close to girls, just to see how they would react.  She put drinks on her tabs -she kept four- and swigged them mid-dance step.  After three drinks, the damned cat stopped showing up in her head, waving an admonishing claw at her.  She smiled grimly, knowing exactly what was in store for him during his next visit to the vet.  Then she shook her head violently.  

She was treating the cat like he was to blame for her insanity.  What kind of perverted person had she become?  "Hello, beautiful," a voice breathed into her ear.  Mell looked up at the man who locked his hands on her waist and swung her around.  She shifted her weight and shoved, sending the drunkard back into other dancers.  He grumbled and rushed back towards her, but she had already slid away to a different spot.  Inwardly she fumed and changed her dancing, swinging her arms too much for anyone to get close like that again.  People seemed to feel her anger and backed away a bit, leaving her a few feet of floor.  

The girl used it too, venting through the music, thinking.  What a terrible day.  **I don't need Gambit thinking I'm holding back information.  **The mysterious voice echoed in her head again, followed by _I'm Officer Kitty and you're clean from now on or I tell Gambit._  Gambit, why was her broken subconscious suddenly so bent on forcing her "Dad" on her more than he was already?  'Not a word, Mell; Never give him dis kinda useless shit again; For a genius Mell, you are one stupid fille.'

She spun wildly, trying not to hear his next words.  They came anyway.  'Stupid name for a pretty fille: Marie. Gambit t'ink Bella Donna suited her better.'  She saw the gun.  'Six chambers, five shots left.  De first go through Marie's pretty head.'

God, he'd turned Marie into a Bella Donna, he'd done that to her and then killed her.  Mell froze for a moment.  No, he hadn't killed Marie; he'd disposed of a shell.  Marie would have died long before her body did, especially if Gambit was anything like his late Uncle.  She began to sway to the beat again, slowly, as if she too was just skin wrapped around a void.  People still kept their distance, somehow knowing it was beneficial to their health.

`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~    

Katherine frowned, spotting an empty space in the Wolves' section.  Only one person filled it; from what she had seen, that should have been impossible.  Studying the person, she smiled.  It was about time.  She bent and pecked one boy on the forehead like she would a small child -had she known any.  Hopping off the table, the girl moved to the beat and disappeared into the crush of people, snapping the shades around a belt loop.  It would look strange to a wary person if she wore them, she supposed.

After three minutes, she finally had worked her way to that open space, which was miraculously still there.  She pulled a handsome man and steered him before her into the gap.  It could be suspicious if she just entered the sanctuary; let the guy take the heat.  Katherine quickly became a passive dancer, letting the raven haired man lead her around.  

For some reason, she pegged him for a European; he just had facial features she wouldn't expect on an American.  That and she'd known maybe three good old, white American boys with natural black hair.  His dancing was aggressive, and for some reason he spent a lot of energy trying to steer her away from the open area by the girl back into the crowd.  He wasn't good at hiding it; it was obvious  _Bodyguard? she wondered.  The fille didn't seem aware of him; but then she looked rather deep in thought._

Katherine frowned and leaned up into his face.  She whispered in his ear, "What is wrong with you?  We've got this room and you just want to leave and get elbowed by two hundred imbeciles!"  She turned away and danced alone in the empty space, purposely not paying any attention to the girl or her former partner.  When she finally glanced his way, he was gone, though most likely still close.  Either she was just paranoid or he had been a bodyguard and she was deemed harmless.  She grinned and started moving around a bit more when she danced, slowly working up to get close to Knave's fille.     

The girl looked sad and lonely.  Kitty immediately wanted to make friends.  For once, Katherine didn't point sternly at the perky persona's apparently shallow grave.  Friends would be a good thing if she was going to infiltrate the LeBeaus.  

_*Turn left ten degrees.  There's a mark on her wrist I want a shot of,*_ Mystique said almost inaudibly.  Katherine avoided frowning, but did as commanded.  

_*Perfect.  The sunglasses are also a camera.  Avoid that man from before, Leo Lycaon, works for Knave.  I can't talk when he's close, and I won't explain why.  Also keep an eye on your trail, there's an Emma Frost in town out for your-*_

She almost swore.  The Ice Bitch, the Headmistress of Hell High, was in New Orleans looking for her?  Then she blinked and almost stopped dancing.  Mystique had cut off mid-sentence, why?  She felt someone at her back and turned.  An incredibly beautiful man with raven hair looked down at her, "Bonsoir," he said before starting to dance.

Katherine looked him over before she followed his lead  When she saw his hair, she had worried it was the bodyguard Mystique had identified as Leo.  It wasn't.  Katherine joined his dance, shock and worry immediately dispelled, though not her wariness.  The man was wearing sunglasses in a dark room, for God's sake.  She wasn't stupid.  He stared at her, intent on burning her face into his retinas –assuming he could see her at all.

"Something interesting?" she asked, not at all uncomfortable.  Her time with Mystique had destroyed any dredge of shyness.

"Something unique," he corrected, then mimed a caress of her neck.  "This tattoo?  Tell me the artist's name."  

She quirked an eyebrow.  He was either artistically insane or medically insane.  "It's the Blue Bitch's work," she said at last.  He smiled, somehow expressing confusion, curiosity, and irritation with the small twitch of lips.

"Interesting," he said, interrupting the silence.  _Silence?_  Katherine blinked, and she suddenly heard the music again, and then it stopped.  She felt the base pulsating through her skin, but heard nothing.  Was her mutation ghosting away from the sound's vibration? If the little ear bones didn't shake from the impact of sound waves, she wouldn't hear something -or so her Biology teacher claimed.  Was it that or just the selective hearing people got when they concentrated? 

 "...purchase the ear piece?  The metal is rare.  Rather extraordinary properties."

Whichever way she had phased out the sound by, she cursed it a thousand ways.  What about Mystique's ear clasp; what extraordinary properties, and what did metal have to do with any of it?  Katherine was bothered by the man's interest in Mystique little toy for sure, but was also very curious about anything he could tell her about it.  Katherine thought for a moment, trying to come up with a decent lie.  A few seconds later, she had nothing and the guy was waiting.  She had to cough up information before he gave her any, so she stood tall and winged it.  

"Bizarre metal, Really?  My mother enjoys magic and all insane things like that.  Gave it as a birthday present."  Katherine hazarded a guess, based on what Mystique had leaked to her about it.  "She told me it would hide my presence from..." she hesitated.  _Stupid!  What am I supposed to say: from mind-readers?_

The man's face twisted with deadly interest.  "Hide you from what?"

She laughed, putting on a sparkling expression to hide her worry.  "Evil!" she cried suddenly, hoping she didn't sound too flustered.  Why was she feeling so insecure about one man?  Time spent with Mystique equaled destruction of bashfulness, so she shouldn't have felt that way.  She didn't know why, but he did make her feel like an antelope too stupid to bolt from its good friend the lion.   

And despite that, she also felt very comfortable around him.  It was a contradiction that made absolutely no sense.  There was a flicker in his face that hinted she wasn't grasping at straws, and that damned cheerful part of her picked up the slack and continued, "She's a wee bit cracked, Mother."  

_Now, what would you do without me?.  You'd, like, be up a creek; that's where.  Now, let me talk._     Katherine conceded and let Kitty out in full purring glory.  That mask had hid her little secrets for years; it would work on the nosy guy. 

He turned around gracefully.  The man danced more like he was at a ball than a club.  It was exciting, like a wicked new waltz.  Spinning once, Katherine noticed the bodyguard Leo oh so very close by.  At least Mystique's radio-silence was explained.   Her dance partner pressed, "Did your mother say where she bought it?"

Kitty bit her lip thoughtfully.  "You know?  She did actually mention something.  Great Wiccan artist in the Big Apple, specializes in "magical" alloys -or something like that.  So, what's the name?"

"It's Nathan," he answered and rested a hand lightly at her hip.  He stared into her eyes, or at least she thought he did.  The dark glasses obstructed her view.  It was odd, like he was some sort of demented secret agent.  It didn't seem wrong on him though, quite the opposite. 

Pryde shook her head.  "Not you, the metal."

"Oh, well that's a secret," he answered briskly and pulled her close.  

Her eyebrows shot up.  "Really," she said coldly, all her former purr kicked out of her voice.  "What, do I have to be a –real good girl to find out?"  Katherine broke out of his grasp and backed up, knocking into Knave's fille.  For a moment, her foot ghosted into the girl's shoe heel.  The next moment, the tracking device she had hidden in her shoe was inside the girl's.

She turned quickly and apologized to the fille, then looked back at Nathan.  "Tell you what.  Talk to me at the bar in fifteen minutes like a human being and not your dancing mannequin and I'll talk back."

Katherine walked away, not really knowing why she had just done that.  It was odd that he asked so many questions, but wouldn't even name the metal composing the piece of jewelry that she wore.  There was just something wrong about that on levels she couldn't describe, but didn't like anyway.   

Ten feet of pushing through solid people and Katherine was at the bar.  She looked back, unable to see Nathan or the fille through all the heads.  A woman lounged on three bar stools, getting drunk off the affection lavished on her by no less than four young men.  Disgusted, Katherine dragged the dirty blonde off her seats and threw her into her fan club's eager arms.  The femme glared murder, but she saw the look in her "attacker's" eyes and quickly retreated.

The girl took the same position, though she only propped her legs up with one chair given her short stature.  She wasn't tiny, but she was a far cry from model height as well.  It didn't matter; she only needed to save one extra chair anyway.  She sat there, thinking about what to do next.  Mystique should have told her whether the tracer was working.  There was a chance it had been squashed by the molecules in the fille's boot heel.

Katherine tucked a bit of hair behind her ear to avoid biting her lip in worry.  Mystique was keeping air silence for some reason.  She could only think of two causes.  One was that the Blue woman knew someone would hear her speak.  She looked around, but there was no sign of a raven haired bodyguard guy anywhere.  Leo and Nathan were nowhere in sight.

_Nathan?_

She paused to wonder why she suspected Nathan of being anything more than an annoying art buff.  _Oh yes, he definitely had an appraising eye when he looked at me, like he was a jeweler inspecting goods._  She shook her head. _ No, it felt more like a butcher looking at the animal he wants to make chops of.  She shook her head again._  What am I thinking?  Two minutes without the Blue Bitch telling me what she's learned from guarding my rear end and I see danger everywhere.  I'm getting too paranoid.  I just didn't like him pushing me that close to him.__

`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~    

Nathan watched the girl disappear into the crowd towards the bar.  He absently twisted a ring on his finger as he thought about.  The man hated the habit, but it was a soothing motion.  In the corner of his vision, he noticed a girl watching him.  She was waiting to dance with him or fade away, like she needed permission to be there.  He held out a hand and they began to dance.

"Hello."

She looked up into his shades.  "I don't talk."  They almost never did, but they wanted to.  Nathan knew it was why she had stayed around.  The girl wanted to talk.

"All right," he replied lightly.

They danced for a while, and he waited.  After three quarters of a minute, she repeated, "All right?"  It sounded like she didn't think males were capable of saying it.

"Why push you, seeing where it got me with her?  A fifteen minute timeout."  He pouted slightly and gestured towards the bar.  As he expected, the girl didn't react.

"I'm just a way to waste de time den?"

He smiled and drew her in a little closer.  "You aren't a total waste of time.  Fifteen minutes is enough to have a good time, isn't it?"

Unlike the girl with the "magic" ear clasp, she didn't get angry at his physical hints.  Girls that did generally were the type with someone to miss them, someone who still cared.  Those that didn't, they had nothing to lose.

A voice rose over the club noise.  "Listen yer Bastard, I am not touchin' your drink a' decayed potatoes.  God know what else you've put in thah!"  Nathan thought it was amusing, considering the protesting female was very much drunk already.  There was occasionally something to be said for human instinct, though not often. 

The girl, now in his arms, flinched.  He picked up a memory of a fat tabby cat actually saying something close to the same words.  Nathan took her chin in his hand.  She was insane; it made things so much easier.  The drink was also heavy on her, but it would burn away in a few hours.

 "Nathan, right?"

He spun around her and smile.  "Yes."

"I'm Mell."

"Interesting," though they danced, Nathan's ears and attention stayed with the girl with the ear jewelry made up of Suith.  It bothered him, having an unknown element on his territory.  He thought she was no threat, just a kid who actually wore the jewelry her mother bought, but he didn't actually know for sure.  Her could hear her breathing like a roar, and studied it, listening for the breathing pattern of a warrior.  He couldn't tell.  It was disconcerting to rely upon his own senses while on the hunt.  She had set him so off guard, the tattooed human child, that he could listen to little else from the spirits.  Even then, he heard nothing from them about her but silence.      

Nathan felt a twinge on his hair and looked down.  Mell had reached up and touched it.  He took her hand away and smiled chidingly.  It wouldn't do for her to see the ears, so much larger than humans' and tapered to a proper point.

It wouldn't do for her to see he wasn't human; that he was her hunter.  The persona Nathan, he smiled at the girl, but it was Nakor who slowly led his prey towards an exit where the lights were far away and not bright.  The sunglasses, the gauze over his eyes, and the darkened contact lenses could only do so much to protect him.  He was often grateful the Club Mist disdained strobe lighting and other blinding forms of human eye-candy.  Its atmosphere was dark and often made hazy when its artificial fog covered the floor.

As they stepped out the door to the alley, Nakor did a quick estimate of time.  He had three minutes to get back inside to confront the human who wore Suith.  He would take her too, but he would need some time.  She had mentioned a mother, so she would be missed.  It would be best to wait until the club closed and the dancers spilled out.  Then people would assume another human had taken her, if anyone bothered at all.  Unfortunately, it would only be an hour until predawn then.  He would be cutting it close.

Nakor led the girl back to her own vehicle.  She had been foolish enough to park in the alley where no one could see.  She stared blankly at the car, realizing it was hers.  "What?"

"Goodnight, prey," he said softly in his own tongue and knocked her unconscious with a small flick of the wrist.

`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~.*`~    

Katherine checked her watch.  It was thirteen minutes later; her boy was a no show.  She had expected him to come in begging at ten or not show at all.  Mystique had still not said a word.  She remembered the second reason why the woman might be silent; she had thought of two.  _ Kurt might be trying something._  The thought had crossed her mind before, but she had been too frightened to really consider it.  _God, what if she hurts him?  _She still was, so she pushed it away and went to find her girl again.  Assuming Knave's fille didn't toss her boots in the river, there was a good chance Katherine would know exactly where she was at all times.  Of course, that was when Mystique was actually on the job, watching the computer screens and informing her.  

She felt vulnerable, and briefly wondered if the Blue Bitch was just sitting, watching the show of Kitty sweating.  It wasn't a comforting thought.  Wanting a little security, she put the shades back on and could see again.  She made her way back towards the Asian boys.  Her mission was accomplished; there was a tracker on the girl.  Whether it worked remained to be seen, but Katherine was done.

About three yards from the boys' booth, a figure dashed past her, slamming her to the side.  Only an extreme amount of concentration prevented her from ghosting and causing a scene.  A raven haired man ran to the dimly marked exit and stopped.  He inhaled with his nose, turning his head as he did.  Katherine did a rapid succession of double takes.  She had been by the Wolverine long enough to recognize a covert sniff.  It dawned on her that it meant he was a mutant.  Then she noticed it was the man from before: Leo Lycaon.  Finally, it occurred to her that if the panicked bodyguard of Knave's fille was frantically sniffing around, it was because his charge had gone missing.    

Leo suddenly did a very decent impression of a bloodhound on the scent and barreled through the door to the outside.  Katherine took a split instant to make her decision, and then ran straight after.  She caught the closing door and slid through the opening before it could slam on her.  The "I can walk through walls" trick was something she wanted to hold in reserve, just in case things got hot.

The exact moment the door shut behind her, a very large fuzz ball was hurled into the wall, inches from her own body.  It rolled back into action immediately and barreled towards Leo, who crouched over the girl, currently unconscious.  As it sped up, the words tore from Katherine's throat.  "Look out!"  The man's back was to her; he couldn't see the animal rushing at him.  Leo whirled, and Katherine did yet another doubletake.

It wasn't Leo; it was Nathan.  He stared at her, shocked to see her.  She saw him cock his head to the side, as if changing the angle he saw her at would make her disappear.  He was so busy watching her that the beast hit him dead on.  What she saw was frightening.

Nathan didn't budge so much as an inch.  It was like a soft breeze had hit him, no more.  The animal wasn't so lucky: it crumpled on impact.  There was a sound that reminded her of home, when it was muddy in the spring and she would walk in the woods in bright blue rubber boots.  The red mud would make enormous squelching sounds, and every so often, she would step on a stick or two.  There would be a happy sounding snap then.  It sounded like that: mud squelching and dozen of sticks snapping as a grade-schooler jumped around having her springtime fun.  Katherine covered her ears.  The memory morphed and she wasn't jumping on a fallen branch stuck in the mud; she was stomping on bones and the red mud was made of muscle fibers and blood.

She looked at the poor animal, snapped into pieces.  It was little more than a bag of fur filled with guts and broken pieces.  Only then did she realize that the clothes it had worn were Leo's.  Katherine stared at what had once been a man and a tear rolled down her cheek.  She finally looked up at Nathan, and his eyes were on her.  He hadn't looked away from her, not for a second.

The flesh bag wriggled.  One paw inched forward and the jagged bone connected to it was slowly pulled back into body.  It -Leo, he tried to stand, and Katherine took a step back, almost passing through the door into the club.  He managed to get two horribly mangled legs under him before he collapsed again.  A low whine escaped somewhere from his body, but she couldn't see where.  The head was nowhere in sight.  She didn't dare look around, afraid she might she it lying around in the alley somewhere.  She hoped it was under the body.

At the sound of the whine, Nathan looked down.  His dark glasses hid any emotion he might have shown.  "Close your eyes, human."  Katherine blinked.  He suddenly sounded old.  Nathan repeated himself.  "Close your eyes, human, or you shall scream and I will be forced to dispose of you here."  

The whine hadn't stopped.  Despite all logic, she obeyed the command.  There was another sound of squelching mud and breaking sticks, and then the whine stopped.  Katherine shook and panic rose in her throat.  _He's killed him.  _

"Eyes closed," Nathan warned.  Katherine went intangible, just to prove she was safe.  Knave's girl wasn't.  As far as she could tell, the girl was still alive.  Somehow, her mind focused on that.  Mystique had said to save the fille's life, if possible.  There definitely was a possibly of saving her life, though Katherine doubted she would be able to reach the fille before Nathan would.

The whine suddenly started again, and loud.  Katherine listened to crunching and swishing sounds for a few minutes.  She forced them out of her head, trying to think of a plan.  From what she knew, Nathan had knocked the girl unconscious, and Leo had bounded in to save her.  Katherine's art buff had swatted the morphed Lycaon into the wall, a mercy blow.  There was a very large, crumbled section of wall to her left.  Leo had gotten to his feet, mostly unhurt, and tried another charge.  For some reason, Nathan had been so fixated on her that he forgot about the beast man.  Leo had slammed into his opponent with enough momentum to break his way through the entire brick wall to her left.  Unfortunately, unlike the wall, Nathan hadn't budged.  With no cushion of stone and mortar, the force had crushed Leo, like he had fallen from a very high place onto a steel floor.

The whine became a soft growl, then a shocked yap.  Katherine's eyes flew open to see a badly injured, but intact black wolf held in the air by the scruff of its neck.  It was a wolf, not some halfway thing like before.  A werewolf, she realized.  Leo was like a werewolf.  

"Go home," Nathan said forcefully, glaring straight into the enormous animal's eyes.  He dropped Leo.  The wolf slowly got to its feet and tried to limp over to the girl.  Nathan shoved it away and Leo tried again.  Over and over again, the same sequence happened.  Katherine crept towards the girl.  She thought of disappearing under the pavement and swimming for it, but then she saw Nathan's eye flick to her no few times.  If he was as fast as he was strong, he could be clear on the other side of town with the fille when she surfaced.  All she needed was a tiny touch and she could disappear underground with the girl and Leo.  By the time he tunneled underground or figured out where she had surfaced, she would be the one clear on the other side of town.

As she almost crawled along the ground, Katherine tried not to laugh.  It seemed so much like that night in the cemetery with Kurt, only so different.  She had endurance and training now, but it seemed useless in front of such a powerful mutant.  It was a given that she was perfectly safe, just as Mystique's gun had been harmless to her.  It was the unconscious person so close to her and yet so far that was in danger.  

Katherine suddenly saw Knave's fille as a sort of sister.  _We both have brown hair, why not?  She wanted to protect the lovely girl with a gorgeous body and a bruise forming on her left temple._

Over a few minutes of shuffling around the trio, she realized that no one was watching her anymore.  The two were so intent on each other and the fille that she was nothing.  They didn't know she was there.  The girl was obviously unable to know anything about her surroundings, but the other two should have noticed.  She admitted she looked helpless, but some random neuron in their brains should have fired off the message, "Keep an eye on her!"

Leo was a wolf, he had to have smelled her.  He also seemed like a very straightforward and truthful person.  Even as a wolf, every thought was written on his face.  She didn't think he could have hidden candy from a baby.  She thought about how obvious it had been that he was guarding the girl.  It was impossible that, injured as he was, Leo could have pretended ignorance of her.  He wasn't a good enough actor to completely ignore her.  Katherine looked down and saw her hand had passed through the ground.  She was intangible, was her scent undetectable too?  She'd never been around Logan long enough while ghosting to find out.

Nathan also seemed totally oblivious, which was strange considering his sharpness about everything else.  For a while she thought he had indeed dismissed her as harmless and didn't bother to keep an eye on her.  Then, from her angle, she saw it.  A ring on his right hand, middle finger, gleamed very dully.  She recognized the metal; she wore it on her ear.  Mystique had said, _It hides your mind and presence from telepaths, _among other things._  What were those other things; was Nathan one of them?_

He had been so interested in her ear clasp, asking questions about what she knew of it.  He wanted to know if she knew of its properties.  Katherine suddenly felt good about her insane mother story, though she still supposed Mystique would be furious at the insults she had thrown in about her.  Anyway, Nathan thought she just wore it because it was a gift.  She wasn't important, so she had a shot.

Feet from her target, Katherine realized her breathing was loud.  She stopped breathing and hoped the slight breeze was pushing enough air in and out her lungs.  The trick worked wonderful when she moved, but it was as bad as holding her breath or diving inside a solid object when she held still.  Her heartbeat was also very loud.  She hoped Nathan's hearing wasn't super sharp and that Leo really wasn't listening.  The most she could do was to use the meditation tricks Ororo and Wolverine had taught her.  

The girl didn't know if it slowed her heartbeat, but after a few "breaths," her nerves were more steady and her mind clear.  Katherine longed to dive under and grab the fille that way, but she knew if Nathan noticed her, he would be gone with the girl and she would surface, wondering, 'Which way did dey go?'

Behind Nathan to the right while he focused on the wolf at his left, she slowly reached for the closest part of the girl's body, coincidentally the bruised spot on her head.  Katherine sincerely hoped that since Nathan was unwilling to hurt Leo, the same would hold true after she grabbed the girl.  The gentleness in which he picked up the exhausted wolf and placed it away might have made her believe he would not harm her either, but he had threatened to kill her already.  It hardly made her trusting of him.

Leo gave a shocked squeak and stared straight at her.  The wolf had finally noticed she was forty feet closer than before.  Nathan's turned on her, shocked.  She fought the urge to strangle Lycaon and eat wolf stew for dinner, instead thrusting her hand towards the girl.  Just touch.  She just needed a tiny touch and they were safe.    

***

Cliffhanger.  Kill me after I resolve it.  Well, does Katherine get the girl?  ...That sounded wrong.  And uh, yes, how did Leo go from bag of broken bones to wolf?  I'm explaining it in 1-2 chapters, so don't ask me, please.

Whoa, okay.  This is Sooooo long.  Again, never expect such longness from me, it just happens.  

Okay, because this is taking so long to get back to the Rogue/Remy, I'm sticking in *another* dream scene soon.

I have this feeling I've totally screwed Emma.  Vengeful, uses sex as a weapon, insane, deadly, vain -yeah, I've got all that down.  She just feels over the top and melodramatic.  Oh...bad memory...Sex therapy...with Scott.  Aagh!!  ...I'm Still not over that one.    

Oh, Good God!  I've thickened the plot -again!  It's got to be rock hard by now.

Review Responses:  

**Daughter of Bast 1:**

Now that's a nice review.  Really, Tithe?  I've looked at it a few times, but felt reluctant to pick it up and tear apart the covers.  I've had the contents of books try to devour me before...literally.  Imagine a ten foot version of the Hagrid's Monster textbooks chasing after me, gnashing its pages open and closed.  And Thanks for the back up.  I'm eternally bedridden with self-doubt.

**Bitrona: **

Darn.  Still no Rogue/Remy/Romy.  It's a Kitty world right now.  Give me something for sticking in the White Queen at least...shoot.  Why not?  She's like Mystique's soul sister or something.  Oh well, I progress steadily towards extended Romy.  Heh, heh.  You know, I probably should have warned you guys it wouldn't be exclusively Rogue and Remy in the summary.  Oops.

**Alliryian:**

Ignore the Choo-master cat thing for a while.  It shall be explained.  Hey, I think you're the only reviewer who is confused.  This is good.  Either my writing has become better or my readers have become resigned to this little fact of life: ToS is confusin', man!****

**Turquoise:**

Spoke too soon.  Tattoos?  Okay, I'm not 100% sure in the science involved here, but basically, a tattoo is ink injected under your skin, meant to stain the skin cells forever.  It's in the cells.  My theory (Mystique's, actually) is that Katherine can phase her body but not the ink (or some weird vice-versa).  Point is, water run through the tattooed area picks up the stain and carries it away.  Permanent tattoo becomes a relative term

**Gothic Cajun:**

Hey!  I included more of the no breathing stuff.  See; introduce cool stuff early so you can use it in the tense scenes.  Isn't prior planning wonderful that way?

**Lonewolf:**

I almost killed the wolf guy, I'm sorry...why do I write to you about such things?  I survived school, and I have the GPA to prove it.  Yay!  I can write more.

**NiteSky:**

Well, I updated.  Finally.  Okay, maybe a week later than I predicted, but I still updated.  And I've made a bigger fool of myself, don't you worry.  Case in point: my little tantrum strike.  Heh-heh.  Why did I bring that up?  *Bangs head on table*

**Analis Destiny:**  
NO ROMY.  I apologize, but everything I write is somehow connected to those two...eventually.  It makes you deserve it more when I finally get to it.  ...uh, did that make any sense at all?

**Piotr's Girl:**

Yes, well, by finding it later on, you've avoided some very embarrassing moments of mine.  I'm grateful for new readers, because I get new opinions (not that I don't love those that have stuck with me the whole way!) and feedback.  That and I can get a whole new author page to exploit your fics and favorites.  I don't think I've just looked at the main X: Evo page for a month.  I like the reader tester, reviewer approved fics.  "Search of the Unknown," for example.  Sounds interesting. 

**Personage:**

Yes, the new Kitty...*ahem*...Katherine!  I meant Katherine!  The new "Katherine" is a characterization I'm proud of.  She seems more true to that Pryde you find in the later comics, not that I have a special background knowledge in them, but an adult acting Kit...Katherine is a good thing.

**Everyone else:**  Thanks for the exam sympathy.  On a bright note, I updated, and my notorious case of writer's block vanished overnight.  Unfortunately, it's morning now and I have school in the morning, like in less than four hours.  Oh well, that's why I keep three alarm clocks.  Night! 


	20. De Bloody Tear

Oops.  It's been over a month, huh?  **First**, I'm alive.  I'm sorry to scare you.  **Second, **to explain, I was banished from my computer every weekend for over a month (Damn all overnight extracurricular activities!) and non-school days are a big BIG **_BIG_**majority of my writing time.  **Thirdly**...oh, just start reading the fic before you guys keel over like you wrote you would.  I can't afford to lose what fans I have...wait...whoa, I have fans!  Are you reading yet?  Go.  Vit!  Thank you.

}:{           )|(           \:/                    }|{             \:/           )|(           }:{           (Here's a guessing game for y'all.  What are these things?)

Previously, on ToS... (I owe you guys this much.  The story starts after the next set of symbols if you want to skip, though I REALLY suggest you skim some of this seeing as its been so long.)    

**In the last twelve fic hours or so**: OC mutants Alan and Hannah-Laura figured out they were pregnant and are planning to get hitched; Remy says Hell with the coma and nearly kisses Rogue, but Jimmie the mutant know-it-all ruins the moment (we all hate him for it_)_; Remy gets called away by this Mell girl who is a top-notch hacker, the baby sister of the assassin Marie whom tried to kill Gambit in the Magic Kingdom but was killed by her own victim, a self-esteem-less and suicidal teenager, and a mutant who thinks she's gone insane to boot; it turns out Xavier's been looking for someone to blame Kitty and Kurt's "deaths" on, and a thief with a bad reputation whose grandmother's tomb crashed down on Miss Pryde ranks up there on suspects; and to keep Charles from doing something drastic, Remy meets the guy...and the Wolverine...and his adamantium claws...repetitively!  ...Inhale!!!...what?  My face was turning blue; I dictate what I write.  Onward!  

Meanwhile Rogue, Jimmie, and Cara –this mysterious new mutant- walk around town, and Cara starts questioning Rogue about why she's with Remy _("Oh, I don' know.  It could be that he has billions of dollars and hundreds a' bounty hunters at his disposal to hunt me down if I run, between Gambit's empathy an' Jimmie's mind control I really don't think about leavin' him over much, I can't go past tha city limits alone without gettin' shipped back "home" in a steel crate (or more likely gettin' shot in the head), Remy has this darker side I REALLY don't want to get on tha bad side of again, an' –oh yeah- I have a frickin' collar on my neck!  ...uh, what was I saying, Jimmie?  Oh, thanks.  ...Ahem: I love him with all mah little heart, and nothin' you tell me will make me feel different!"_ ...**Just thought I would mention her "reasons" for staying**_)_.  Cara figures correctly that something's up with Jimmie and mind control, so she hits him over the head with a rock –hey, it worked.  To dump Jimmie and theoretically prepare to leave town, the three go to Cara's hotel, coincidentally the same one where Remy is running for his life.  At that hotel, Xavier gets tired of Remy dodging swipes and helps Wolverine cheat...ooh!  That had to hurt.  

Meanwhile, Mell is at a bar across the street from the hotel getting *hic* vede vede drunk.  We learn about here that Gambit adopted her and Jimmie [and that half-werewolf Leo Lycaon (his dad was a werewolf, a real werewolf!) as a brother].  However, Mell is clueless about everything in the last sentence and then some.  Back at the hotel, Xavier picks up that Mrs. Remy LeBeau is in the building and has Wolverine bring her to him, perhaps to free her; who knows?  Rogue turns all kick-ass defense attorney for Remy, but her tactics are kind of stupid to use on a genius telepath who is NOT thinking straight!  Translation: if she doesn't watch it, he's going to give her a brain aneurysm –nice guy or no.  He's never had students die before.  Nope.  Never.  Baldy can't take it.  He's gonna blow!  ...uh, moving on:  In Cara's hotel room, Jimmie wakes up and finds Cara knocked unconscious (thank you, Xavier...aka Mush Mind).  He gets filled in on what he missed by the voices in his head and wishes he had stayed unconscious.  

Becoming a busy little worker bee, Jimboy taps Absorption Kurt's "mind" into Rogue's body so the Fuzzy dude can cool Xavier down.  Xavier gets confused when Rogue/Kurt teleports, but Wolverine acknowledges it as a fact of life and goes out to get drunk.  Instead, Logan meets Mell.  He gets protective and gets her to go home.  Not really; she fakes a call on her cell to get a ride home and waits in the car that he won't let her drive drunk.  She waits for Remy by smoking cigarettes and Logan watches the car from the roof with a beer.  Jimmie comes clean face to face with Xavier about his hand in a lot of things (Rogue equals Kurt? things) and gets the guy to go.  It helped Charles to know Kurt is still alive in some fashion and to hear from a familiar source that Remy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He and Wolverine leave.  On the way out, Logan catches a whiff of Kitty's scent, but he doesn't believe his nose (well that's a first).  Anyway, Jimboy gets Mell to stop smoking and spends a few minutes with Cara.  He couldn't even see her with his mind before (ticked him off), but he figures out how to look inside her head and changes her memory.  He tells her brain she just had some fun time shopping with Rogue and returned to her hotel room.  Right, she really did do that.  Really, really.  Note the sarcasm. Then he goes into the bar to keep an eye on Mell and drowns his sorrows with a **_root beer!_**  Poor guy.  He does all that work and he knows Gambit is still going to drub him.  Also, he knows he's going irreparably blind, so he should get some slack.  But does he?

Remy wakes up, and the Rogue/Remy not-so-romantic-tension starts up AGAIN!  Will I ever just fluff it?  That's a joke, right?  ...Ahem.  He has Mell take them home, leaving Jimmie to figure his own way back to the complex.  Jimboy hates it, but he never expected anything different.  Mell can't know about him –Gambit's rule.  It was technically illegal to tell her to stop drinking telepathically, but it was that or Remy punished her too.  Isn't Jimmie nice?  Anyway, walking home, the fic segues towards a weird vampire side plot.  A race of immortal bloodsuckers hide somewhere in N'Awlins.  While their ice blue blood **won't** turn a person into a vampire, it does speed up regeneration and, subsequently, reverse the aging process somewhat.  When concentrated, this blood becomes a miracle.  _"Become young again, save a terminally ill or permanently crippled person with just one injection.  Buy your Blue Miracle today!  SeeYourLocalBlackMarketOrganizationForDetails, PricesMayVary._"  Hundreds of N'Awlin's "vampires" have been killed in only three centuries (remember, they live until killed so that's a lot of death) just for their blood.  That sucks...damn pun.  What's worse, their eyes are so sensitive, a candlelight a yard from their face could blind them permanently.  There are only two positive aspects (besides the usual strength, speed, immortality, etc). They hear "spirits" in their minds telling them about the world.  This is sort of like what Jimmy can do, but no.  Also, they have a metal compound called suith that blocks out telepathic and magical probing; even the spirits won't "talk" about a person wearing it.  This is actually the metal that Magneto's helmet, Katherine's ear clasp, and Kurt's prison walls are made of.  Enough background.  Our main vampire is Nakor, whose family was destroyed by the LeBeaus.  With his daughter dead, wife missing, and his blinded son still screaming about the "red eyes" ten years after returning home, his hate is justified.  Note that "red eyes" hints towards Darien (Jean-Luc's evil older brother, presumed dead but you know what that means).  The only thing Nakor hates more than LeBeaus are the Changed -his people's word for mutants.  He met the "first" Changed called Echil, and the cat mutant (think the original TV show's Sabertooth...brr) injured him.  Serious loss of pride there.  Nakor would do anything to get his hands on any Changed, but especially the cat and the red eyed type.  I really couldn't care less about Victor, but Remy must be protected from vampires at all costs! 

Moving on, Remy, Mell, and Rogue get home; Jimmie gets home; and Nakor gives a vampire teenager a tour through the hidden parts of their home: the Memoriams (tombs) and the wings for the crippled.  It turns out they don't tell the little ones that they've gone from hunters to hunted unless necessary.  Wouldn't want to start a panic, now would they.  

In Remy's apartment, Rogue is asleep.  She's probably slightly narcoleptic, which I think would be an interesting character twist.  Remy decides his bum shoulder needs to be secretly healed immediately _(It's shredded rather badly and that would mean his roof walking days are over.  Also, if Rogue is in danger with all the protection of LeBeau law to back her up, how does Remy really fare in the world without that protection?  Methinks he gets in quite a few fights.  Who wants to go up against Martin, Knave's fear sucking mutant bodyguard?  Not me!  Especially not with an arm out of commission.), _so he looks through his handy-dandy enormous box of medical supplies and finds a cell number for emergencies.  He calls it and his mutant doctor friend Merin answers.  Confusing?  Very.  She leads him to a large quantity of the Blue Miracle in the box, leaving Remy wondering where she got it and why he has it.  Note: Merin specializes in mind tricks like locking away memories.  Remy has asked her to hide his memory, most likely so Jimmy won't pick up anything about the blood.  The boy would have to look to find it.  He dismisses the thoughts from his mind and injects a vial.  For the time the blood is in his system, his eyes remain a startlingly deep blue and are very light sensitive (more so than his demon pair).

In another part of the LeBeau complex, Mell gets ready to sneak out and go clubbing, only to receive intervention through her overweight tabby cat Choo (imagine a cross-eyed Garfield).  Yep, telepathic cat.  Actually, Mell can converse with animals because of her X-gene, but she doesn't know that.  She thinks she's gone insane.  Despite that, the cat holds his own pretty well; he's very formidable, the bogey-cat of mouse mythology.  For that reason, Mell keeps Vodka, cigarettes, and her picture of Marie under the blankets of his kitty bed where he can protect them.  Gambit would react the same if he found any one of those items.  In the end, Mell ousts Choo and roars off into the night.

Again it the complex, Knave (Jean-Luc) LeBeau muses over his aching muscles and bones.  Even though he uses a mutant healer to keep his organs and brain young, he lets his body stay in constant pain.  Why?  And why didn't Remy use that healer too?  Knave doesn't give an answer.  Instead he thinks of Mell and the use she could be to him if he got her on his side like he did Leo and that healer (they were Remy's confidants and charity cases).  He receives a cell call from our half-werewolf Leo.  

Leo:     "She left.

Knave: "Then follow the fille."   

Back in that hotel, Mystique "overhears" this tiny phone conversation.  She's not like Mell, but her hacking skills don't suck.  She starts tracking the nameless girl who seems so important to the LeBeau King through a network of cameras.  She calls Katherine, now a very good motorcyclist (she had some prior illegal experience on a Harley), and has the girl come up for the start of her big assignment.  That assignment at the moment is to infiltrate the upper ranks of the Thieves' Guild through Mell.  Katherine experiments with being ghostlike on the way over to Mystique's office.  After a brief misunderstanding in that room, she gets a goody bag of interesting gadgets and adopts the name of Duchess Katherine Wagner.  She goes to the dance club that Mystique tracked Knave's fille to and manages to plant tracking devices in Mell's car and inside her boot heel (we don't know if that one works or got squished).  

Katherine unwittingly catches the eye of three dangerous people.  In an office overlooking the dance floor (one-sided glass), Emma Frost closes a business deal.  She moves the window and people watches, finally catching sight of a girl standing on a table.  Interested, she takes a closer look and finds nothing (Suith metal hides stuff good).  Looking through the mind of a nearby person, she deducts that the girl is none other than Kitty Pride, the bitch who got away.  Emma tried to recruit the girl for her own mutant school, but failed miserably.  The White Queen decides to stay in N'Awlins for a while and make Kitty pay.  Mystique seems on top of the situation however.  She hacked into Emma's cell phone and destroyed it.  The Blue bitch is less able to handle Katherine's other obstacles.  Normally she talks to the girl though that fashionable ear clasp, but Leo the werewolf has pretty good hearing, and Mystique knows it.  When Pryde gets in close to Mel, she dances with Leo and Raven has to keep air silence.  She manages to warn Katherine about Leo Lycaon's status as Knave lackey and Mell's bodyguard (though not what he is) when he walks out of hearing range, but the last guy doesn't give her that option.  A handsome man named nation is very interested in the strange metal in that ear clasp.  He turns out to be Nakor hunting for a meal for his son and he is very ticked off that a human is wearing Suith.  Katherine plays the fool and he guesses wrongly that she knows nothing about the metal's properties.  

Nakor, wearing dark-tinted contacts covered by gauze bandaging covered by sunglasses, moves onto to dance with Mell, who unfortunately fits the type of person he wants exactly.  She is healthy, but seems to have no one to miss her.  She's also insane, or he believes she is.  His people consider insanity a contagious disease, so he closes his mind to her.  He knows nothing about Remy's red eyes or her connections to the LeBeaus.  Sadly for her, insane people taste just fine.  He leads her away out a side exit.  Remember Mell is suicidal and he has done this for a long, long time.  Leo gets worried and tracks the girl down.  Katherine notices Leo's panic (she knows he is Knave's fille's bodyguard) and follows him out the door.

Mell is knocked unconscious; Katherine comes through the door and sees a gigantic wolf man charge a man bent over the girl.  She shouts a word of warning, thinking he man is Leo, only to find "Nathan" (Nakor) whirl and stare at her in shock.  He didn't expect to see her there.  He is so surprised he doesn't move out of the wolf-thing's way.  Nakor isn't harmed, but Leo the partially transformed werewolf gets crumpled (try running into a titanium wall at over thirty mph).  The vampire orders Katherine to close her eyes, and she does because shocked people don't think too good.  When she opens her eyes, Leo is now a four foot tall black wolf –weak, but in one piece (to be explained, though I think people can guess...or not).  The wolf and Nakor get wrapped up in a little heartrending struggle to save Mell, and Katherine uses the time to sneak around them towards her.  They stop noticing her and she gets within arm's reach of the girl when Leo notices her and brings attention to her again.  Desperate to save Mell from "Nathan," the invincible monster, she plunges her hand down towards the fille.  Just one touch and they're safe...

Well, that's from twelve o'clock lunch to the Witching hour...good God.  That's 2500 words of badly written summary.  Someone save me!!  ...Anyway, did that help anyone?  It might have confused you a bit...okay, a lot, but it's better than rereading...what is it...44,189 words.  I repeat: GOOD GOD!  I think that's the length of a book. 

Um, onto the story.  Onward, I say.  Onward!  

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Ch.  20:          De Bloody Tear

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(I've said something like this before, but I thoroughly hate this chapter.  I've reworked it many times from several angles, and it still hasn't come out right.  Then again, seeing how some readers have formed a support group to help them get through the lean times, I guess I should stop complaining and post what I have.)

The lycanthrope watched in shock as the strange yet familiar girl shot her hand down towards Mell.  She seemed desperate to get her hands on his charge.  He didn't know where she had come from, the girl.  He had not smelled her as she approached.  It was so odd; he should have picked up the scent of the dyes that formed her tattoos and the cow hide she wore over her legs even if the human herself had no scent.  Perhaps she was only a trick of his mind, a sort of delusion.  The vampire noticed his surprise and followed his gaze, startling slightly at the sight of the scentless girl.  The thing that wanted to eat Mell saw her as well, so she had to be real.  Whether that was good or bad was a mystery, however.  For whatever reason, the vampire wasn't pleased to see the human and tried to roughly shove her away from his prey.  

The blood eater's arm moved like a hummingbird's wing, appearing only as a blur.  His hand connected with the girl's shoulder. He tried to fling her into the nearby wall, but his arm only passed through her body.  The werewolf and the vampire shared an instant of complete astoundment.  The girl was the only one of the three who didn't notice the limb impaling her heart; her focus was entirely on reaching Mell.  To her, her hand must have plummeted so very quickly, but the other two saw it slowly glide towards its target.  If he weren't so weak, the lycanthrope could easily have stopped her thrust, most likely by biting her arm off.  As it was, he was powerless.  She moved more quickly than he could, so he desperately hoped she could somehow save the girl.  

As the hand inched toward Mell, the vampire used the time to fall deep into thought.  He pulled his arm from the girl's body and let it rest at his side.  His face gained a calculating look that was visible behind his sunglasses and the cascading raven hair that completely covered his dagger pointed ears.  Finally, when the human's fingertips were mere centimeters from the  unconscious girl's forehead, the vampire became a blur again.  He and Mell disappeared.  The girl's hand, still reaching for where the werewolf's charge had lain, struck the pavement.  Grit and tiny rocks embedded in her palm as her skin was grated away.  She cried out softly in surprise.  The vampire had moved too quickly for her to see.  Indeed, the werewolf to had been unable to follow the movement as well.

Searching for Mell's scent in the night air, the werewolf sniffed deeply.  He caught her smell and looked straight up.  High atop a building's roof, the vampire crouched.  He stared down; a soft expression offering the lycanthrope his silent regrets.  It was a feeble apology in advance for killing Mell.  His gaze shifted to the strange human, and he snarled.  He had been indifferent to her before, but now he hated her.  The werewolf didn't understand why that was.   

Mell's hunter vanished from sight.  The lycanthrope whined.  If he were healthy, he might have had the strength to scrabble up the tall, crumbling brick wall and follow, but he was grievously injured.  His body fought to heal the still open wounds with only the vampire's blood to aid it.  He felt the bluish liquid slicking the remaining fur of the torn mess that was his neck.  Years ago, someone had told him his father's people healed quickly.  That he had survived what felt like ramming a titanium wall at the highway speed limit lent some credence to the statement.  He might have become whole again with time, but the strange blue blood the vampire had leaked into his veins sped the process up from months to perhaps days.  Unfortunately, he didn't have days.  Mell needed to be tracked down immediately before her and her captor's scent left the air.  He inhaled softly, memorizing the shark-like smell of the vampire.  When he was healed, he might be able to track him or one of his kind back to their home.  None of the Guild had managed it before, but none of them had been half-werewolf either.

He started to lope around the building, thinking to follow their scents from his street level position.  After taking three brisk steps, he took a fourth, and he immediately regretted the action.  The leg collapsed under his weight and he soon followed it down to the ground.  It seemed like all the pain he had ever experienced in his life (which was a lot) suddenly caught up with him.  A  high pitched keen escaped his throat.  If nothing else, he decided, he now had an immense respect for crash test dummies.  He blinked, wondering at the strange thought.  It was something Leo would say.  _'Leo,'_ he thought.  He was Leo, but he was obviously something else.  A large black paw stretched before him: his.  Its soft pad would shred if he tried to walk on it too long.  He would have to build up calluses like he did in his dreams.  He sighed, remembering those happy dreams.  When he was asleep, he wasn't Leo Lycaon, the unwanted half-breed an ocean away from home.  He was the wolf.  He was Lupe.

A flash of movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention, tearing him from his thoughts.  The scentless girl had stood and was looking around.  She took in all the damage that had been dealt in such a short period of time.  She turned her head to look at the wall the vampire had caved in by throwing him into it, then at her hand, the wide crimson pool of his own blood, her hand, the piles of crumbled brick strewn out across the alley street, an odd scratch in Mell's German car, and then at her hand again.  She seemed appalled that the pavement had scraped a few skin cells off her palm, like it should have been impossible.  Finally, she looked at him, compassionate hazel eyes peeking over her sunglasses.  "I'm sorry," she whispered as she walked over to him.

Part of Leo told him to snap at the stranger.  A memory briefly came to him.  Back in the club, he had danced with her for a moment.  She wasn't a complete stranger, and she tried to save Mell -or so it had seemed.  The malicious little voice told him to bite her anyway.  He was too tired to argue with himself, so he did.  When she brought her hand close to him, he shot his head forward and snapped many impressively large teeth down on it.  The girl sighed and pulled her hand out through his cheek.  He felt an odd tingle as she did.  She looked at her hand disgustedly and started to shake it with vigor.  As she did, drops of saliva flew off it.  One glob landed smack on his nose.  Leo wiped it away with a paw, whimpering when the foreleg hurt.  He lay his head back down, silently noting that it was rather comfortable to lie down on the ground when shaped like a wolf.  From within, that same dark voice told him to sleep.  Still too tired to argue with himself, he did.

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Katherine wiped off the last bits of wolf drool on her pant leg.  She glared at the wolf who had donated the slobber until she realized he had fallen unconscious.  Her eyes softened.  Leo had been too exhausted to think straight.  Some sort of animal instinct told him to bite, so he had obeyed.  There had been no conscious thought involved; he had no reason to feel any guilt.  She couldn't blame him for trying to rip her hand off.  She had been tempted, though, tempted to let him tear her flesh.  She felt like she needed some sort of punishment.  Despite all of Mystique's training, she had still failed.  Instead of saving the fallen victim, she had let the monster carry him off.

"Him?" she asked aloud, and then hung her head.  For just a while, her mind had been tricked into believing she was back by the cemetery, saving Kurt with all her newfound powers.  What stupidity.  If that had been the case, it would have been easy.  Touch Kurt and let Mystique shoot her black little heart out, then walk away like bullets went through her brain all the time.  Instead, Katherine had done worse than before; she hadn't even gotten to the touch Kurt part of the script.  She looked at the girl's car with the tracking device hid oh so cleverly behind the little door that protected the gas cap.  If she had been smart, she would have ghosted it into the car where only a good deal of tearing apart the vehicle would have found it.  Why was she so stupid; why didn't she think of those things earlier?  

Her brain dragged her away from her misery and put her on the task at hand.  The alley was a mess.  No matter how deserted the place seemed, someone would come and discover a disaster zone.  The blood would be analyzed, and the DNA of a mutant werewolf in the hands of the scientific community could cause all sorts of problems.  Katherine looked around at the destruction.  There was little she could do about the partially caved in wall, but the blood and rubble needed to go, especially the blood.  She walked over to it, knelt, and thought.  It needed to disappear, but she had inconveniently forgotten to bring her mop and bucket.  A thought occurred to her, a very icky thought but a good one.  Groaning, she stuck a finger into the red pool and ghosted it.  

It just lay there.  "All right, that didn't work," she muttered.  The girl pulled her fingertip, all red and sticky for nothing, from the pool and sighed.  She had wanted the blood to fall down through the ground, but apparently the liquid was stubborn.  She looked down at her feet and had a small epiphany.  When she ghosted, she didn't automatically fall but rather had to think about it.  On the other hand, if she ghosted and something fell on top of her, she didn't have to think about it either.  The object just fell through her.  She looked at the bloody finger once more, instantly decided never to wear red nail polish again, and then put it back in the middle of the pond of blood.  Most of the crimson substance had come to rest in a slightly caved in portion of the street, so she submerged her finger almost to the knuckle before she tapped the bottom.  

Katherine ghosted a tiny circular portion of the street surrounding her finger.  She phased out a long vertical cylinder that emptied out into a hollow area underground: the sewer.  She felt the odd sensation of blood swishing past her finger as it fell down through the street.  It was like she had unstopped the drain on a bathtub.  After a moment's concentration, she expanded her the range of her ghostly touch to cover the ground under every speck of blood.  It fell through the pavement like it wasn't there, which it technically wasn't.  All the blood gone, she lifted her index finger off the pavement and took a look at it.  It was completely red.  The girl plunged it down through the ground.  When she drew it out, it was bloodless.  She stood and stared at a chunk of brick.  She imagined ghosting the ground straight from her feet to the piece of rubble, then did so.  Her eyes flicked to bit of brick dust, and each fell away through the ground.  Then she reached for a large one perhaps eight yards away and found it didn't budge.  She walked two steps toward it and stretched her reach.  It still didn't fall.  She frowned at reddish yellow brick, and then shrugged.  Her range wasn't all that great, but for a first timer, she had done rather well.  She took a small step forward and tried again.

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Everett jovially punched the button for the basement  of Club Mist.  Technically there wasn't a lower level, but what the police didn't know rarely hurt them.  The elevator was an antique and rather slow, so he bided the time by enjoying the plush beauty around him.  Lavishly polished exotic wood gleamed.  He detested the crucifix inlays, however.  Everett was a confirmed atheist, though he would never tell his rather religious employers that.  To take his mind off the crosses, he thought of his business meeting with Miss Frost.  Though not much business had taken place, it had been very enjoyable –or so the delusional man thought.  He decided to make an effort to handle all Boudreaux family's negations with Frost Industries, at least if Emma was there to do the bargaining.

The elevator stopped, and he heard the doors open, but the ones in front of him remained shut.  His cheeks colored with embarrassment; he always forgot that that the basement was underneath the street instead of under the club itself.  The other set of doors had opened.  He turned around one eighty degrees and left the elevator cage briskly thought the open doors, hoping as always that no one had been there to witness his idiocy.  To his dismay, there was a dark skinned cleaning woman in the large entrance hall.  Fortunately, she was staring up at the ceiling.  He noticed the floor was filthy, covered in dusk and who knew what else, and angrily wondered what she was doing lollygagging at the mural on the ceiling for.  As he opened his mouth to reprimand her, she noticed him and started babbling incomprehensibly, all the while pointing up at the ceiling.  He glared at the woman.  She was thick waisted, had a sagging butt, and one breast was larger than the other.  She was disgusting, and her gabbing hardly made things better.  

"Shut up!  What shit are you talking about?" he finally screeched.

The cleaning woman froze, looked up at the ceiling, and then pointed there again.  "Sah, look!" she exclaimed.  Groaning, Everett did.  He saw a fresco of glorious angels surrounding the Virgin Mary as she lovingly held her little bastard.  He would rather see the dirty alley street only feet above the ceiling painting; it was less of an attack to his senses.  "Sah, look.  Look!" the maid cried like a parrot imitating a broken record player.  "Look at hah face.  Look an' you'll see!"  Grudgingly, he studied the watery face of Mary.  There seemed to be some sort of red on her eye.  It seemed very out of place in a mural done up in blues and golds.  "Tis blood, Sah!  She be cryin' lots.  Look!"  The woman stepped away to reveal a pool of blood.  

Everett stared at it, his face turning the same color as the liquid.  '_What is the bitch trying to pull?'_ he thought angrily.  There was no God, no Jesus.  They were just stupid myths like vampires and werewolves.  "Look, you ignorant fool!" he finally shouted.  "This is all fake; you can't convince me this is some frickin' miracle."  He gestured rudely at the Virgin.  "See your little goddess up there?  If she did exist, she was a bitch, a whore who pretended--"

His tirade was cut short as a large, reddish yellow brick fell through the ceiling and conked him on the head.  He crumpled and lay prone on the ground, thankfully unconscious.  The maid muttered, "Hallelujah!" and went back to staring reverently at her Lady.                       

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Katherine smiled at the spot where the bulky chunk of brick had lain.  "So my range is about twelve feet.  I'll have to work on it."  Her frown dropped suddenly.  She was supposed to be sad and regretful for losing Knave's fille.  Then she tugged the depressing cloud away from her brain.  There was no use crying about it.  It wasn't like the girl was in mortal peril; a very dangerous mutant had only kidnapped her.  If she was so important to the King of Thieves, then she would be ransomed.  All Katherine had to do was track her down before Knave paid a cent but after he  received the ransom note.  It would probably work better that way.  If she had saved the girl in the alley, there would only be her word and a wolf's that she did.  She shouldn't worry too much.  If that tracking device in the fille's boot worked, it would be a piece of cake to track the girl down.  She had gotten her emotions tangled up in the whole thing and hadn't thought straight as a result.  Next time she needed to be more careful.

Katherine looked back to the small area where she, the super powered mutant Nathan, the girl, and Leo had all been only minutes ago.  A thought occurred to her, and she slapped her forehead.  It would have been so easy to ghost the ground under Nathan and let him fall into the sewer below.  She tapped her foot on the manhole cover that led to that sewer.  Then Katherine shrugged.  It was still better to wait for the ransom note, sneak the girl out of some enemy bas, and claim her reward.  At least if the same situation of race to save the unconscious victim came up a third time, she had an extra option for success.  It would be three easy steps: drop Mystique through the ground, pick up Kurt, and calmly walk away.

_'Unconscious victim...'_  The thought struck Katherine as odd.  Then she blinked and stiffened.  "Oh God, Leo."  She rushed back towards the sleeping wolf, silently hoping he was only sleeping.  She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his neck, trying to find a pulse even though she had no idea how to do it on a four legged animal.  A cold something covered her palm and she snatched it away.  She watched as an ice blue liquid seeped into the abrasions she got when her hand struck the pavement.  "Wonderful," she chirped brightly.  "Now it's infected by whatever the Hell that was."  Her palm felt like it burned; most of the skin had been scraped clean off.  It would take days, maybe weeks to scab over and heal.  It bothered her.  When she could pass through bullets and meat cleavers without trying, it was an insult to be hurt by a mere patch of blacktop.  She was wasting time, she realized.  She put the hand down and focused on Leo, glad to notice he was breathing shallowly.  

She rested her head in her good hand and wondered what to do with him.  Considering Leo had been a fleshy bag of bones and shredded muscles only a short while ago, he was healing nicely.  Whatever Nathan had done, it was working well.  However, she couldn't just leave him there.  If someone found him, he would be carted off to a zoo or shot.  On the other hand, he most definitely didn't fit on her motorcycle.  Calling a cab was out of the question too.  So was carrying him back to her hotel room.  The wolf was huge, almost twice the size of the ones she'd seen in nature films.  There was also no guarantee Mystique was available to ask what to do.  The woman had mysteriously disappeared off the air waves.  

Katherine studied the alley.  She'd dropped the blood and quite a lot of the rubble into the sewer below, but there was still Leo and the fille's car to deal with.  Her eyes suddenly flicked to the car, and she smiled.  "Well, that solves a lot of things."  She walked over to it and tried to peer through the tinted windows without success.  She ghosted her head through the dark glass and looked around.  There was nothing suspicious like a burglar alarm or a ticking time bomb.  She unlocked the door from the inside and ghosted out again.  Looking from the car to Leo, Katherine wondered aloud, "Shotgun or back seat?"  She decided to give the behemoth as much room as possible.  She opened the back door and with a supreme effort managed to haul the wolf onto the long seat.   She studied the open door for a moment, and then flipped on the child safety lock.  If he woke up while she was driving, he might panic and try to leave the vehicle as it was going sixty miles an hour.  The girl noticed a folded blanket lying on the floor of the car.  Reaching down for it, she saw a pillow under the seat.  She frowned, wondering if Knave's fille slept in the car sometimes.  Pushing it from her mind, she covered Leo with the blanket, shut the door, and went around to turn on the safety lock for the other side.  

That done, she slid into the driver's seat and silently thanked God that the car wasn't a stick shift.  She looked around at the controls, trying to remember every time she had watched her mom drive the minivan.  A folder on the dash board caught her attention.  Willing to do anything to put off trying to drive the car, she snatched it to look through its contents.  A piece of paper fell to the floor as she did.  Curious, Katherine bent over and picked it up; it was an upside-down photograph.  She flipped it over and gasped.  It was a photo of her.  

An odd feeling came over her and began to tear through the folder.  There was information on everything, from her birth to her Bat Mitzvah and beyond.  There were notes of when she shot that deer and when she became a vegetarian; there was even psychoanalysis on her transformation from Katherine to Kitty.  She found all sorts of records.  There was her birth certificate, her bank account number, her social security, her--  She stared at the last piece of paper in shock.  She stuttered numbly, "This is a...it's my...my..."  She clamped her mouth shut and breathed deeply. 

Finally gaining her voice, she muttered, "So what?  I've known I was a ghost for days.  My death certificate just finalizes it, that's all."  Katherine set the folder down on her lap.  She shouldn't worry about her legal status as a corpse; the problem was that the LeBeaus had been looking through her life.  She needed to find out why.  More importantly, she needed to make it so no one would recognize her as Kitty Pryde if they tried.     

}:{             )|(              \:/               }|{             \:/               )|(              }:{                                                               

Phew.  All done.  There.  I realize the actual fic part is kinda short compared to what I've done in the past, but it seemed a good place to stop.  You've got to give characters a moment when they figure out they're "dead."  On the bright side, I promise you all here and now that I will post chapter 21 sometime on or before 3/28/04.  If that fails, I'll damn the "no AN chapter" clause and tell you guys what went wrong.

**No reviews this time, but please give a big round of applause to **_Persona the ITG_**, _Alliriyan_, **Kitrazzle Fayn, lara-belle, Steph Silverstar (the former Nie Starwhistler), Turquoise, Flamekiller, and Teiya Renee **for kicking my rear in gear, **and give a smaller round of applause to roguewannabe29 because although she (...he?) distended my review page (personal pet peeve), she/he(?) helped tremendously with the kicking.  I've missed some people, I know.  The reviews say it all, so look there.  


	21. A Woman Named LeBeau

**_READ THIS!!!_**   Okay, I've figured out a way to get this story back on the Romy track.  *looks around, trying to find the source of loud cheering* It involves a dream sequence, a helluva lot of LeBeau Family politics, and --y'all are going to hate me for this--  massive reconstruction on the entire fic.  *dodges hundreds of bullets in a Matrix-like manner*  ...sigh.  Yes, I'm doing revisions (as in putting in new material in addition to repairing the old stuff) midfic and nothing will stop me.  To answer that worrisome question in the back of your minds, though: No, you won't have to reread the entire thing, just an add-on I'm attaching to the beginning of the fic.  Think of it like a flash back.  On the plus side, it lets Rogue..._Ahem, she isn't Rogue yet in the new part_...Fine, nitpick voice in my head, fine!  It lets** Miss Adler** have more fic time and gives the story an actual, real, honest to God, non-OC antagonist.  Yahoo!!

To alleviate fears, I will continue to post chapters 22, 23, and maybe even 24 before I implement the change.  Again, on the plus side, it will steer the plot towards the impending point of no return for Rogue and Remy's marriage: an official ceremony!  That means lots of my madcap style Romy along the way.  If I don't do this, the plot will swing more and more towards Katherine until I kill the couple off and focus on her and a few, key OCs exclusively.  That is a threat, by the way.  Grr.  

Sorry.  I probably sounded kinda mean ...okay, really bitchy when I wrote that.  I'm mostly just trying to beat myself into submission by giving an ultimatum; you guys just got caught in the crossfire.  It's hard for me to gather the courage and work ethic to revise.  At least that damned Creole ≠ Cajun issue will disappear when I'm finished.  I do know the difference, I'm just lazy!!   

**Ch 21: A Woman Named LeBeau**

Deep within the Boudreaux Compound, Marius, Leader of the Assassins, was on his knees.  Head bent subserviently, he begged his master's forgiveness.  The motionless statue that was his lord stared down upon him coolly.  Meticulously arranged clothes clung to his impressive, larger than life figure.  The only lights in the darkened room were aimed to light up his pale features in a foreboding and powerful manner.  He stood tall and straight, critically judging the man who knelt before him.

Marius, finally with nothing left to beseech his master for, ended his entreaty with words he knew by heart.  Quietly, he broke the room's long silence with a faint whisper, "Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.  Thou shalt not Ratsach; so say your words.  Yet I lie in wait to murder men and their wives, their children.  Forgive me, Amen."  So ended his prayers, his daily ritual.  Still on his knees, he opened his eyes and studied the sculpture of his Lord Jesus before him.  As always, the Boudreaux man found himself in awe when he gazed upon the Savior's face.  It was only an imitation, but the statue of Christ seemed more real and lifelike in stone than Marius did in flesh.  Truly, something holy had guided the hands of the piece's maker.

He heard the faint, smooth sound of the door gliding open.  One of his men entered the room slowly and reverently.  "The Lady Frost has taken her leave of the cabaret, Milord," the retainer announced at last when he sensed his master was willing to listen.  "She was reported to be --quite aggravated."  Marius inclined his head slowly in acknowledgement before rising to his feet, a silent message that he very much wished to speak to Everett and see what the Hell went wrong.  The serving man, Ethiopian in origin, quickly retrieved the cushion the Boudreaux leader had knelt upon.  He went to a small table at the side of the room and placed the soft, cream colored pillow upon it.  It would be washed and returned to its place before the statue by dawn.  In a graceful manner gained from years of repetition, he retrieved a fresh set of Marius' outer clothing and brought it to the man.  

In moments, he had dressed his lord in a silk shirt of the same golden, creamy material as the pillow.  The Boudreaux himself buttoned the delicate cuffs as his man placed upon him an elegant vest of dulled and blackened alligator hide.  As he straightened his clothing, the servant laced up tall boots that matched the vest.  While he attended to his collar, he felt his long, golden hair being pulled into a no-nonsense yet refined tail.  When the man was finished, he stepped toward his own personal cabinet.  Pulling the rich mahogany doors apart, he eyed the assortment of weapons.

After an instant's deliberation, Marius pulled a slim throwing knife from many assorted along the back of the cabinet.  He slid it into position within the sheath already hidden underneath his left shirt arm, bringing the number of blades he stored there up to five.  Next, he removed a thin and feather light revolver from a high shelf and placed it in a secret pocket on the inside of his vest at the small of his back.  Finally, the Boudreaux reverently lifted the sword, his symbol of office, from its pedestal and carefully buckled it to his belt.  He stroked the polished scabbard a moment before turning towards the door.  Inwardly, he felt anxious to find out what had gone wrong with Everett's deal with Frost Industries.  However, his training removed any outward expression of his concern as it had for so many years.

Completely prepared, he strode out the open door into the hall.  His eyes swept about the marble corridor before him.  His eyes rested briefly upon the crosses, the sky painted upon the ceiling, all the signs of his family's devoutness, and the beauty of white marble dressed with blue and gold about him, but they soon moved on to scout for any danger.  Such was his training, and even the safety of his own home could not appease the assassin's weariness.  Marius took note of the two guards who fell into step behind him.  Though he could not be bothered to remember their names, he knew they were the two assigned for him that day.  He relaxed slightly.  He would not be attacked in his halls that night.

}:{           )|(           \:/          }|{            \:/           )|(           }:{        

Behind the statue of Jesus that Marius had just left, a shadow stirred.  Quietly and stealthily, it crept passed the black servant who diligently cleaned up any trace of the room being occupied.  LeBeau kept a watchful eye on him as she backed out the same door the Head of the Boudreaux House had used.  She scanned both sides of the hallway for signs of life before following Marius and his two guards.  As they passed an intersection, she looked both ways before crossing.

LeBeau silently pulled a switchblade from inside her dark uniform as she came closer to the group.  She turned around in a circle, careful to make no sound as she searched for any hostile presence.  Deeming it safe enough, she rose from her crouch and stood tall.  Raising her blade to wipe out the offending blight on the landscape, she froze.  There had been an odd sound.  She turned and went to a door set open only a crack.  Peering through the hole, she saw one of the Boudreaux night staff hurriedly pick up the mop he had dropped, most likely in exhaustion.  Turning back into the hall, she again analyzed the situation.  There appeared to be no danger, but there was no way of truly knowing.  

Nearing the group again, she did another sweep of the area.  Deciding it was safe, she raised the knife to shoulder height.  Then LeBeau cut off the long, stray thread from her uniform.  Quickly snapping the blade closed and wrapping the offending strand about it, she replaced it in her person.  Silently, she took her usual place as Marius's rear guard.

The young woman alternatively switched between searching for any potential assassins and adjusting her appearance to match the standards of her lord.  Crouching behind a statue for several hours while Marius relaxed, took a nap, enjoyed a few drinks, and prayed hardly helped her look pristine.  Her hands swept over her uniform, a black version of the outfit worn by all of the Boudreaux guards and quite possibly the shabbiest affair the Family's seamstresses had ever turned out.  It was supposed to be durable to the point of insanity, but in reality, its poor construction made it about as delicate as spider's silk.  The suit was constantly falling to pieces and she –never being taught niceties like sewing- was forever cutting off loose strands and hoping the end result didn't look too threadbare.

After making her clothing as presentable as she could, she moved on to her hair.  Scraggly, uneven auburn locks fell about her head, a result of cutting her hair by hacking at it with a switchblade.  The young woman's hair was too thick to support the preferred, long length braid of Boudreaux guards, not mention that she barely had time enough to wash her hair, let alone brush it smooth and braid it.  She used her left hand to tuck her hair into a decent position actually behind her ears while the right strayed towards the gun at her hip.  There was another odd sound, and somehow she was sure that it was not another clumsy cleaning staff member.  Rapid, loud steps echoed down the intersecting hall Marius was just crossing.  The right guard glanced down the passageway at the ready, but quickly relaxed and passed by.  However, he didn't turn back to a forward position before jerking his head from her to the hall.   

LeBeau schooled her features into an emotionless mask as she withdrew her gun from its holster.  There was a situation.  The problem either wasn't glorious enough for him to handle or too dangerous.  That of course meant that she was supposed to handle it.  There was nothing lost if she was killed, and no one in the compound had qualms about giving her dirty work.  She turned down the hall and looked at the situation.  A man sprinted down the hall, not winded at all.  He'd slept in his clothes at least two nights in a row, but he looked rested, if rumpled.  There was a metal band cinched over his arm that denoted him as important enough to not kill, under interrogation, and dangerous.  He took note of her the instant she had him.  She readied her gun.  He had his own revolver, likely stolen from his personal guard, and damn if it didn't look like he knew how to use it.  He aimed it at her coolly.

That Marius had passed the man unscathed bothered her.  He wasn't an assassin, or at least not one with a contract on the Boudreaux leader's life, so things were a lot more difficult.  His primary goal likely to get out of the compound alive.  He hadn't shot Marius because he was preserving bullets.  That spoke something about his intelligence.  The young woman frowned.  She was exhausted, absolutely starved to death, extremely cramped from her long stint behind the statue of Jesus, her Lord Savior, and ticked off that she had to deal with a disturbance on what would have been her day off if she a vacation package, or pay for that matter.  LeBeau shot the gun out of his hand and then aimed her own pistol at his head.  He froze.  The escapee hadn't expected her gun to have a built in silencer, which had been her saving grace.  People like him were trained to dodge bullets after they heard them coming.  He would have gotten out of the way, then fired the instant he heard a gunshot, and probably hit her somewhere vital.  The chance of her receiving immediate medical attention was nonexistent, so silently thanked the Lord for that silencer as she stared the prisoner down.  He cocked his head at the gun, not quite believing she had shot his weapon away without harming him.  She stood there, not quite believing she had shot her firearm at all.  She had just used up her only bullet -though she wasn't about to tell him that.  Far away, there was a faint sound of running footsteps.  The man grew frightened at the sound, so there was no possibility in his mind that they could be back-up for his side.  The noise relieved Marius's most unorthodox guard as much as it panicked him.  To her it meant that Boudreaux men were coming.  It would have been odd if she had just stood there, aiming a gun a man for minutes without trying anything.  He would guess correctly that the gun was empty and make a run for it.  With her backup coming in from behind, she seemed like a solid, impenetrable wall.  Fortunately, walls didn't have to move.  

While she waited for the runners in the distance to appear, her mind turned to the injustice of it all.  Everyone that wasn't some sort of menial servant in the building was armed to the teeth except for her.  All she was allowed was a single bullet and her one, trusty switchblade.  It was the answer to a logistics problem.  How could Marius make a girl his bodyguard when he fully expected her to kill him, given half a chance?  Well, if he kept two trustworthy guards with him at all times, armed himself, and threatened to kill her mother if she tried anything, then she was effectively trapped.  If she managed to off two of the Marius and Guards trio, then the remaining man would stop her.  Wasn't life grand?

Two guards came around the bend and the man's heart fell.  He would likely never leave the compound alive.  He looked at her, his eyes revealing his hopelessness and despair.  She looked back at him, her sunglasses hiding the hopelessness and despair shining in her own eyes.  He didn't know that she was a prisoner just like him.  Marius's men were ordered to shoot her if she tried to leave his home.  As the guards dragged the prisoner back to where he had come, she went back to her spot behind Marius.  

Along the way, she again tried to make her self presentable.  Her hair had fallen to its preferred spot over her eyes.  Tucking it back again, LeBeau took advantage of her shades to pin the more unruly bits into place.  Finally, she adjusted the sunglasses, spending a lot of time making sure they wouldn't slide.  She shivered, remembering the last time she accidentally let Marius see her eyes.  They were the reason why her life was a living Hell, her eyes.  Everything had been fine until they inexplicably turned a glowing demonic red a few years back.  She woke up one morning and panicked.  Her mother, she tried to tell her that it was normal, that it was only because of her real father's blood, but she hadn't calmed down until she was in the emergency room.  Then, within an hour of the doctor's visit, she had been taken away for "further testing."  If further testing meant being beaten by silent men dressed in white and blue, locked in a crate, and then gift dropped to a terrifying man named Marius Boudreaux, then yes, the doctor hadn't been a lying bastard.  She had spent a horrifying few months being reprogrammed like she was a computer.  Only God knew what they had done to her; she didn't care to remember.  One side effect of that programming was that now she actually thought of herself as LeBeau: the strange name she had been given that no one would explain to her.  Wasn't life grand?       

Falling behind the leader of the Assassins again, LeBeau felt a faint tingle along her stomach.  She pulled out the cell phone and took the call as her eyes swept about the hall, searching for any potential assassins.  The man on the line delivered his message and terminated the call, unwilling to sink to small talk with the hated LeBeau she devil.  She closed the phone and replaced it on her person.  It was nothing she wasn't used to.

"Everett's in de foyer, Monsieur Boudreaux," she said quietly, breaking her silence for the first time that day.  He didn't look back, but she saw his back muscles clench with agitation.  She cringed.  

Without turning his head, he ordered curtly, "Improve your speech, LeBeau."  She hung her head slightly.  She had forgotten how much her Cajun dialect irritated him.  Somehow, she thought her next training session wouldn't be a pretty one.

"Yes, mon seigneur," she said softly, careful to remove all sarcasm from her voice.

}:{           )|(           \:/          }|{            \:/           )|(           }:{        

For the thousandth time, Marius wondered why he put up with the girl.  The answer was that a LeBeau pet was worth any aggravation she might cause him.  Dr. Donal's blood tests proved that she was indeed the late Darien LeBeau's bastard daughter, but they held no indication of what demonic ability she possessed.  Darien had created invisible walls, and that new one -Remy Etienne- enjoyed explosives if his spies were correct.  LeBeau, she had no apparent power, which irked him.  It was too much to hope that it had been successfully exorcized from her, so it was either something unnoticeable or she was smart enough to hide it.

As always, he didn't have time to think about it.  God had chosen that he be a busy man by making him be born into the Boudreaux family, and He always managed to find something to occupy His servant's attention.  As Marius stepped into the foyer, he almost sighed.  God intended for him to be very busy that night.  Rubble littered the area and a cleaning woman stood in the center of the room by a pool of blood, doing absolutely nothing about it.  Belatedly, he also noted that Everett lay unconscious by the elevator.

Curious, he gestured to guard on his left that the man question the maid.  Within instants, the woman launched into a very excited story.  "Sah, what happened?  Why, I was here, polishin' these floors nice an' beautiful when a drop of red somethin' plopped down next ta me.  I looked down, an' it was blood.  I look up, and tha Lady, she be cryin' Sah.  Cryin' blood.  It starts to come down real fast, and I's scared.  Then brick and dust, it starts to fall, fall straight through the painted sky up there.  I's scared, but nothin' touches me.  It stops and I look up.  Mary looks down at me, eyes still red from tha cryin'.  She looks beautiful an' holy even with those horrible, demon lookin' eyes."

Marius glanced at LeBeau critically, who suddenly looked white as a sheet.  The woman went on, "Then this oaf here," he assumed she meant Everett, "he comes down here all high an' mighty.  I tries ta tell, tries to tell him it's a miracle.  Yah know what he says ta me?"  She looked around, he eyes something wild.  "He calls mah Lady a woman of…of…a woman of bad color!  He started ranting evil things and, oh bless his heart, one of the angels up there in the painting got mad, and he hurled a brick at tha oaf's head."

Marius eyed the unconscious man.  The woman was rather too excited to be lying, and frankly, he wouldn't put it past Everett to try to destroy the good name of the Virgin.  Disgusted, he took control of the situation.  After a minute of terse conversation to the people in the Foyer and on the phone, his guards dragged Everett away for good.  The maid received a raise for her faith if nothing else and was convinced to leave the area of her "miracle."  A crew was brought to the site to clean up the mess.  A scientist came and took a large sample of the blood for testing before the pool was mopped up.  The man in charge of the surveillance in the compound informed his that the camera watching the area directly above the underground foyer had been out for roughly half an hour.  He sighed at that; it would be so nice to just call it a fakery or a miracle based off of that tape but God said it was not to be.  

Everything taken care of, he stared up dispassionately at the Virgin's red eyes.  Marius finally went over to LeBeau.  She obediently handed him her revolver and knife.  He walked down the hall with only her behind him.  The damned woman followed him into is quarters and made her way deep into them where her own small room lay.  Allowing himself to be undressed, he tried to banish thoughts of a Mary with blood red eyes and failed.  As he settled in for sleep, he somehow knew he would dream of a Virgin with sunglasses and scraggly auburn hair who cried blood.

}:{           )|(           \:/          }|{            \:/           )|(           }:{

(Ookay, me be very warped.  Let's move on…hey, at least it was in the X-Men universe!  Now onward, to Katherine driving a car…*giggles*    )

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Katherine stared the thick folder lying in her lap.  She knew there was more in it that she hadn't seen, but she was afraid to look.  There couldn't be anything worse than her own death certificate, but one thing nagged at her.  "If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway," she quoted in a low mutter.  The girl looked at the unprepossessing manila folder; it seemed so plain, so harmless.  How could such an ordinary thing hurt her?  After gathering her courage, she opened the folder, hurriedly paged past the card that declared her a corpse, and narrowed her eyes.  

She whispered, "Murphy, why do you have to be so right?" 

Another person's photograph lay there.  It took her a moment to recognize the smiling face gazing up at her.  She had thought of him as fuzzy for so long, it was strange to seem him without his midnight blue fur, yellow eyes, and fangs.  Kurt flashed his patented toothy grin at her, and she narrowed her eyes further to keep from tearing up.  "Damn you, Murphy," she whispered.  Katherine flipped the photo around, not wanting to see him anymore.  She frowned and squinted to decipher a jagged scrawl of cursive on the picture's back.  She read aloud, "Kart Wagner, poppy Dunce wiener, pressured dead at bird?"  She blinked.  "What?  That can't be right."  Picking up the photo and placing it inches from her face, she tried again.  "Kurt Wagner, possibly Duke Wagner, presumed dead at birth ...holy shit!"

The wolf in the back made a huffing noise from under the blanket.  She glance back him worriedly for all of two-thousandths of a second before returning her attention to the photo.  Katherine's mouth made a little oh as she remembered what Mystique told her about the Wagners so she wouldn't 'disgrace the family name.'  The Blue Bitch had said the boy was only missing, though.  A little brain power and she put two and two together.  "Cross out the possibly, he is Duke Wagner."  She shook her head and wondered why it mattered that much.  It wasn't like he could just walk into a ballroom in Europe and be fawned over.  He would need to be blue blooded, not blue haired.  His appearance was likely the reason why the note said he was "presumed" dead.  The second his mother saw the tail, she had probably tossed him in a river. 

Katherine realized she was rambling in her head, and she knew why.  She was actually stalling for the moment when she would have to drive the car.  Shaking her head, she berated herself, "Baby.  It can't be any harder than riding a bike.  There are four wheels for God's sake."  She started looking around in the car and found out that Knave's fille was the smart type that kept her keys on her person.  Sighing, she shrugged and plunged her hand into her stomach.  She fished around in her navel for a while before pulling out—

"My room key."  She frowned and ghosted it back into herself.  She tried again and pulled out, in order, several tracking devices, her fake ID, the money she was supposed to use for bribery but likely go shopping with for a new house, her room key again, her cell phone, and the keys to her bike.  Katherine groaned and tried one more time.  "Where is that damned…oh."  She pulled out a silver cylinder that looks a lot like a lipstick tube.  After studying it for a minute, she pressed a button on the back.  A strange sort of skeleton key popped out the other side.  The girl pinched the extended colored tube and felt it give like putty.  It returned to a flat orange stick when she let go.  Frowning, she pinched it again and then pressed the button.  That time the orange material held the shape.  "Why do I feel like I'm James Bond's little sister?" she murmured as she jammed the soft stick into the ignition and pressed the button on the back.  She turned the "key" and felt the car spring to life. That done, she sat there and racked her brain, trying to remember every time she had watched her mother drive the minivan.  Silently thanking God that the car wasn't a stick shift, she pressed down on the break and shifted the car into neutral, then drive.  Smiling, she let her foot off the brake, and then hastily slammed it back down when the car began to move.  Katherine stared at her feet, wondering what idiot thought it was a good idea to make the car drive when the acceleration pedal wasn't being pressed.  

Trying again, she slowly lifted her foot off the break and started to steer.  She tried swerving right away from the brick wall, back towards it, and driving straight.  It didn't seem too hard.  Then she made the mistake of pressing the accelerator.  About one second and a hundred feet later, Katherine slammed on the break.  The unconscious Leo made a horrified yelp in the back, and she agreed with him wholeheartedly.  She took a deep, steadying breath and started again.  She managed to drive down the alley fairly well.  The turn to get out onto the street came up, and she didn't turn fast enough.  Again, Katherine closed her eyes and made the brakes screech.  Her tire treads were going to be gone soon.  Slowly she opened her eyes.  The brick wall of  alley was inches from her nose -her actual, flesh and blood, in desperate need of plastic surgery nose.  Her legs and arms were ghosted through the wall.  "Thank God for super powers," she heard herself whisper as she put the car into reverse and backed it out of the wall, leaving both car and wall unscathed. 

After a few interesting experiences with switching a car from drive to reverse and back again, Katherine finally got the car through the curve.  With some practice and a bit of trial and error, she found herself weaving through the empty alleys with relative ease.  Within five minutes she wasn't even needing to ghost through corners and trashcans.  Katherine started to look around.  Fun as driving around in dark back ways was, she needed to get on a road with a street sign and find her way back to the hotel where Mystique kept base.  She had a street map stashed in her belly too, but it wouldn't get her out of the large, dirty maze she was stuck in.

Katherine started to hear the faint sound of cars and worked her way towards it.  Eventually, she found that her road spilled out onto a main street, thankfully one not filled with traffic.  She suddenly felt a fear way up in her throat.  She would have to drive on the road with other drivers sooner or later.  To take her mind off of it, the girl glanced at readout in the car and found out she was facing east.  After a few mental calculations, she figured she was north of her hotel.  Slowly, she turned right, adamant that she would stay on nearly empty side roads. 

About ten minutes later she found herself in hell: stuck in forty mile an hour traffic.   Cars whizzed past her over the speed limit by about forty miles an hour and her heart threatened to go into cardiac arrest, she stayed at just under the limit, pretending to be somebody's slowpoke granny.  The tactic seemed to work, and she finally found herself in familiar territory at the same time the traffic thinned dramatically.  

As her hotel came into sight, Katherine suddenly had the urge to smack her head into the steering wheel.  There was a _wolf_ in the backseat.  There was no was she was going to be able to sneak up an unconscious, four foot tall wolf through the lobby and up seven flights without being noticed.  She briefly thought about how fun it would be to try, but then she spent her mental resources trying to find a solution.  By the time she figured out what to do, she was in the parking lot.  With some difficultly, she did a U-turn and drove the car to the back of the hotel.  Parking next to the wall, she got out of the car and leaned on it.  She spent a quick minute thanking God she had survived.  

It was about time the Blue Bitch gave her a helping hand, Katherine thought when finished.  She considered her ways of making contact, including storming down to the hidden basement smashing the redhead with a two by four.  Finally she settled on walking a good ways from the car but within in easy range of it.  The girl didn't want to lose Leo as well as Knave's fille.  

"Mystique?" she asked.  After a minute a complete silence, she semi-shouted, "Mystique!"

}:{           )|(           \:/          }|{            \:/           )|(           }:{

Meanwhile, Raven Darkholme was having a bad day.  She picked up a thirty kilo Grecian urn and hurled it across the room.  Her son Echil's DNA helped with the lifting, but the anger and senseless rage was all hers.  Morphed into the cat man, she growled and eyed the elegant office around her, intent on destroying everything in her path.  She grasped a vase sporting delicate, white lilies.  The flowers' pale petals reminded her of the pale skin of a Night Child, a vampire.  "Nakor," she snarled and smashed the vase into the wall.  He was still hunting, still roaming the night, still kidnapping innocents with loved ones and wives and families and people who would miss them so much.  

Mystique slammed her fist through the wall, remembering when she woke up before dawn to find her love gone from her arms.  She remembered when Echil went off in search of his father, only a boy, and didn't return for days.  She had feared that he was killed too.  Then he returned and told about creature he smelled Cramir's blood on.  It spoke strange, but called itself Nakor, her son had said in his simple way before limping off to mourn.  She remembered searching for the beast called Nakor at night for years before she found him.  He greeted her and called himself Nakor.  It was the only word she understood in his strange words, for all that they sounded vaguely familiar.  He had mistaken her for his own kind like he had her son.  It sickened her think he thought she was a murderer of children and a render of families.

She started to rip the thin marble slabs from the wall.  Wasn't it enough that he had torn apart her first real family?  Echil was never the same after Cramir died; she was never the same.  Now Nakor threatened everything again.  Mystique opened her eyes suddenly, remembering Katherine.

}:{           )|(           \:/          }|{            \:/           )|(           }:{

It had been ten minutes.  Exasperated, Katherine asked the heavens, "Where's my guardian angel when I need it?"

_*That is the first time anyone had called me an angel.*_

Katherine, though relieved the woman was there to help her out, was sorely ticked off.   She replied sickly sweet, "And the last time too because when I get my hands on you, you're going to Hell.  Where were you!"

There was a brief silence on the airwave before the Blue Bitch answered cryptically, _*A situation came up.*_

"Yeah, it was a werewolf flying into a brick wall inches from my face!" she snarled back.  Her sunglasses slid down her nose and she angrily jabbed them back up.

_*Judging by the presence of the girl's car, you apparently succeeded,*_ the woman said smoothing, trying to change the topic of conversation.  Katherine wasn't having any of it.

"Yeah," she agreed sarcastically.  "If succeeded means the target was kidnapped by a super powered mutant, then sure.  Otherwise I repeat:  Where the Hell were you!"  There was a long moment of silence, and then another.  Katherine blinked.  Surely the woman hadn't...  "Mystique?"  The was no answer.  The woman had, she had cut the connection.  "Bitch!" she growled.

}:{           )|(           \:/          }|{            \:/           )|(           }:{

Mystique's fingers flew over the computer, searching for any sign of the kidnapped fille.  Her eyes widened, and she double, then triple checked what she thought she saw.  Her eyes did not deceive her.  Katherine had actually managed to get a trace on a Night Child's prey.  The sense of foreboding she had suddenly felt when the girl said Nakor carried off her target lessened a little.  If cards were played right, it could come out all right.  She briefly entertained dark thoughts of exterminating the vampire's entire colony as the moving dot of light blipped on the computer map of New Orleans, but then she remembered that Katherine wasn't a killer.

She turned the audio communication between her and the girl back on, ready to inform the girl on what she needed to do.  She clicked the mouse and instantly heard an ear splitting, **_*MYSTIQUE!*_**

The woman in question winced.  The system was set up so she could hear the faintest whisper and listening to a shout _hurt_.  Thankfully, she managed to turn the volume down by the time Katherine screeched her name again.  She interrupted the girl by asking, "Katherine, was the girl drunk?"

There was a pause and Mystique could almost see the double take.  _*Huh?*_

"If she isn't," she went on, "then you don't have any time.  Was the girl drunk?"

_*Actually, I think she was.  What does that have to do with anything?*_   

"It bought you a few hours," Mystique replied, then pressed, "How drunk?"

*How should I know!* the girl cried indignantly.  *What do you mean it bought me some time?  I have time.  Wait for the ransom note to come out, then hum-ho.  There I go to save the day.*

The Blue Woman looked at the hardwood of her desk with an eye to bash her head into it.  She stopped herself only at the last moment, deciding not to form a bad habit.  She had forgotten that Katherine didn't know about the supernatural part of the world.  How utterly stupid of her; in New Orleans, such ignorance could have killed Miss Pryde and already almost did.  "Katherine," she said softly, trying to explain.  "That thing doesn't want to ransom the girl, it wants to eat her."

There was a very uncomfortable silence.  _*...Oh. ...What the--"_

"There's no time," Mystique interrupted.  "Its kind can not digest alcohol, so it must wait for the victim's BAC to drop to almost nothing.  Unless it's absolutely starving, it will wait a few hours beyond that."

_*Wait.  Why are you calling Nathan an it?  What do you mean his kind?*_  

Sensing that the girl meant to ask more questions, Raven intervened by saying, "You don't have time to hear out the explanation.  I need you to get back to the club.  Interrogate the bartenders, see how much she consumed."

*Uh…"

Mystique's attention perked up.  That was a very interesting sounding "uh" that she wanted to know all about.

*...I might have someone a step better.  If he would wake up and turn back into his human shape.*

The woman sat back hard, realizing with a faint trace of horror what the girl meant.  "You took Lycaon with you," she said numbly.  

_*I can't just abandon a  mutant to vets or a zoo.  When he morphs from a wolf to human, there's going to problems.*_  Again with the believing a supernatural creature was a mutant.  Mystique frowned.  The girl needed a crash course in mythology and soon. However, it definitely was not the right time.  She pulled up a quick file she had made on Leo earlier before Nakor's appearance had thrown her into a rage.   His biological mother was a human.  She quirked her eyes at that piece of information.  

"He fully transformed," she said in disbelief, unable to accept that a half-breed lycanthrope could become a full wolf.  

Not catching her drift, Katherine replied, *I don't think it was on purpose.  He had a little...accident with Nathan.  I close my eyes and the next thing, I know, there's a hurt four foot beast where an almost dead wolf-man was.  I think Nathan did something.*

It took a moment for her to connect Nathan with Nakor, then she blinked.  The blood, Mystique realized.  Even in a low concentration, a Night Child's blood would speed up the fast healing abilities of a Lycaon to the point of a miracle.  Why the beast would help anyone, even a lycanthrope, was beyond her, but at least she knew what had happened.  It was more than what she could say for Katherine. 

*In any case,* the girl went on, *he's still injured and unconscious in the back of that girl's car.  I'm in the hotel's back.  I need to get him up to my room without being seen.*

Mystique sighed.  It was probably the least she could do.  She was about to literally plunge the girl into a nest of blood sucking vipers.  Nodding, she answered, "I'll handle it.  There's a sort of nasal spray in your kit.  Use it on him; it will knock him conscious in seconds.  The wolf is a sort of instinctual part of him.  If you wake up the brain, you should wake up the human side.  Don't ask me how I know.  Just be careful and try to keep him from destroying the room.  There's a company in New Orleans that repairs damage with no questions asked, but they still keep records.  The less traces you leave and the less I have to pay for this, the better."

She heard a faint whoosh when the girl nodded.  *That's great Mystique, but there's something...*

Mystique rolled her eyes, and then instantly wanted to slap herself for it.  "No time," she reminded the girl.  "The team should be coming out of the building now."

_*I see them, but Mystique, it's really--*_  

She cut out the voice and went to work on tracking exactly where Knave's fille was being taken by Nakor.  As she did, she muttered something about young people and priorities.

}:{           )|(           \:/          }|{            \:/           )|(           }:{

        **Damn.  I'd meant for this to be longer, but its late, I have school tomorrow, and I promised to post.  It's probably riddled with errors.  Sorry.  **

**However, on the bright side (hmm…I like saying that this chapter), it means I'll post the second part that much quicker, as in about two days.   **

**Oh, and I promise, promise(!) to stick in some Rogue and Remy in chapter 23 for you guys.  It means I'll probably cliffhang the part about whether Mell gets eaten or not (she's an OC, it could go either way) but –hey, what ever makes you guys happy.**

**And I'll post some review responses here tomorrow (3/29/04).**

**And that OC chick named LeBeau?  Yeah, I'm insane and I like OC characters way too much.  On the bright side…sorry…I pretty sure she's going to get killed off.  I like killing OCs almost as much as I like writing them.  It's why I write so many, so some of them get to live…you're all backing away now so I'll just say goodbye.**

**Bye!!!!**


	22. Ma Petite

April Fools  ;P

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;P

Yay to people who didn't storm off thinking that I only posted two words!  Like I'd post that much so late at night anyways.  I'm also in perpetual terror of the FF.Net Attack Chiwawa, so I wouldn't dare, but some people might picture me as capable of such a hanus act.  Hmm, why isn't "hanus" in the dictionary?  ...but I digress.  

Anyway, here's the update for you.

}:{           )|(           \:/            }|{               \:/           )|(           }:{

...after some review responses

**Nite Sky:**                  

There we go.  Nice review.  Yay for advice.  I was semi-quasi-thinking along those lines for that dreaded revision.  I could in fact split this up into three different sequential fics for the same story easily.  When I get that damned revision done, the story should dump Katherine and the vampires to a point in time weeks...months(?) past the point where I get to say, "Houston, we have a Romy."  Hell, they'll probably end up as sequels.  Thanks for the tiny complements within the criticism.  It helps to know what I'm doing fairly well at. 

_(Please, anyone that reads this and feels ticked off that I'm tearing apart and redoing my fic in the middle: remember that it's the first fic I've really put an effort into finishing.  I want it to end up interesting and **right**.  On the bright side (yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm repetitive), remember that it will make the fic a pure, 100%, unadulterated (hey, I'm redundant too), complete and total ROMY.  And as Hemingway said, "The first draft of anything is shit."  Raise your hand if you want a shitty Romy...minds out of the gutter!!)****_

**heartsyhawk:**            

Hmm...if I've lost you, it would do you some good to tell me where you got lost and ask some questions.  I could have spent my time typing up an answer and figuring out how to fix the problem for future generations instead of writing this.

Steph Silverstar:         You have no concept of patience, do you?  I said maybe in probably two days, or something like that.  You've gotten three updates in less than three weeks, so sit your tush down, get reading, and be grateful.  I could have been working on that stupid revision that is the current bane of my existence...excluding the watery hell that is the swimming unit of my gym class.  However, thanks for being such a devoted stalker reader.      

**Lonewolf, sarah, Exacty**, **_etc._**: 

Yep, you guys are getting a Romy.  Break out the Bouillabaisse and have your Fat Tuesday in April!  ...Note that Mardi Gras always comes right before Lent though.  It's gonna take me a while to implement the changes, so please find some Romy elsewhere for a while (and tell me if you find a good one!) until then.  It's not like I've really had any for a long while anyway. (Repeat:  Minds out of the gutter!) 

}:{           )|(           \:/            }|{               \:/           )|(           }:{ 

**Ch. 22: Lycans, Corpses, an' Ghosts, Oh My!**  (If there are mistakes, I'm starting that mass revision 4/2/04 anyway.  Bear with, future English teachers, bear with.)

}:{           )|(           \:/            }|{               \:/           )|(           }:{ 

Nakor leapt from shadow to shadow along the rooftops, carefully cradling in one arm the reward for his efforts, who was rapidly becoming more trouble than she was worth.  The girl named Mell somehow had relations with a half-breed Moon Child and a Changed, yet he dared not listen to what the spirits said of her.  He might catch her insanity.  It was an infectious disease he didn't dare expose himself too.  Still the whispering voices nagged at him, begging him that it was important.  The spirits started to remind the lord of very young children; they had no sense of priorities.  Even if he could stop to listen without going mad himself, dawn was swiftly coming and he had to go the long way around.  The shortest of his rooftop routes took nearly an hour longer to reach home than by car.  He had originally intended to take Mell's car and add it to his people's supplies as he usually did, but it had suddenly seemed a bad idea next to a Changed who couldn't be physically stopped.

As it was, he fretted about the girl's vehicle.  There was a large chance an opportunist human would highjack and solve his problem, but he had learned that over a long time, the unlikely but very bad thing happened every so often.  However good Club Mist was for hunting, Nakor wisely made the decision to avoid it for a few years or until he knew no one connected the girl's disappearance with the location.  His thoughts then turned to the other girl, the Changed.  He snarled; a girl who wore Suith.  There was no way of telling whether she was a threat or had only stumbled into them.  Whatever it was, she was dangerous.  Her air and way of speaking seemed foreign to him.  The Night Child hoped she was only visiting his hunting grounds and would soon leave.

Hoping, guessing –he hated to do both.  He wasn't supposed to need to formulate answers; he could hear them clearly from the spirits.  Yet he could not find answers about the Changed; he dared not listen to what the spirits said of Mell; and social law demanded he not look to the lycanthrope's secrets for answers, even if it was half-breed.

Thoroughly dissatisfied, Nakor made his way home.  For a moment, he mused that at least some good had come out of that night.  His son would not starve.  Shilf would feed after the alcohol left the girl's blood and he could no longer fight against the hunger.

}:{           )|(           \:/            }|{               \:/           )|(           }:{ 

Katherine nodded as three men walked out of a no-nonsense steel door set into the hotel.  They had to be the team that was coming to help her get Leo inside.  "I see them," she said, letting the sound carry through her ear clasp to the blue woman, "but Mystique, it's really important!"  She gasped as she heard the audio communications cut out.  The fool had actually given her the mute button.  Angrily, she looked around for something to kick.  There was nothing nearby that wouldn't shatter her foot on impact.  Katherine ran her hands through her hair, tugging it all to the back of her head.

"Idiot," she growled.  The LeBeaus, they knew her face, and Mystique wanted her to rush out and save the girl who had the damned photo in her car!  She looked around for something -anything- that she could break.  Of course there was nothing.  She crossed her arms, ghosted her hands through her jacket sleeves, and dug her fingernails into her skin. She wasn't about to cry, but the temptation was there.  She sighed. Life was shit.

The men walked straight past her towards the car.  Like they did it every day of their lives, one man slid into the driver's seat as the other two loaded blanket swathed Leo –still a wolf- onto a cart they had conveniently brought along.   The pushcart reminded the girl of the kind used in large warehouses to transport boxes.  The team worked so synchronized, as if they were machines on an assembly line.  

With nothing better to do, Katherine started to pick at the torn skin of the palm she had scraped badly back in the alley.  Her prying fingers only encountered smooth flesh.  Frowning, she looked down at her hand.  There weren't any cuts or bruises, just that pinkish new skin that formed a while after an accident.  Her eyebrows twisted into a confused expression.  It didn't make any sense.  The hand should have been raw, bleeding out of the rips, not to mention infected by that strange blue substance that had come off of Leo.  Instead it looked like a day had gone by in an hour.

The girl's car roared with life, forcing Katherine to leap into action.  She rushed over and stopped the driver from taking off into the night by rapping on the passenger window.  When the dark window rolled down, she blinked.  He was looking straight ahead at the road like she didn't exist.  It gave her an odd, jittery feeling.  Banishing her trivial thoughts, she reached in through the passenger window and pulled out the folder holding her and Kurt's information.  It wasn't something she wanted lying around.

Much to her indignation, no sooner did Katherine withdraw her arm from the car, then the man hit the accelerator -hard.  As the car tore away, she winced.  Never again would she be able to watch a fast car (or a car at all, for that matter) without getting the shivers.  Sitting in one again was going to be a nerve-wracking experience.  When she got her license, she decided, it would be for a motorcycle.

_'Motorcycle...oh, shit.'_  She remembered her bike and where she had left it.  Looking up, she noticed that only one of the team was pushing Leo and the other was walking inside empty-handed.  The girl called out, but he didn't seem to notice.  Katherine rushed over and placed a staying hand on the jobless man's shoulder.  He finally looked at her.  "There's a dark blue bike in the MVP parking of Club Mist," she told him clearly and a little loud, fearing he might be hard of hearing.  "Pick it up before the place closes and bring it back here.  Check it in with the valet and send me the parking ticket."  She briefly remembered Emma Frost and bit back her groan.  Wasn't her night so nice and complicated?  "Make sure you're not followed."  As she handed the keys to the tall redhead, she hoped he had the right sorts of skills or knew someone who did.  It would be damned inconvenient to lose the bike, her only safe mode of transportation, or to get tracked down by the Ice Bitch.

The Ice Bitch, the Blue Bitch, why was her life plague by such "charming" ladies?  

The red haired man nodded simply and walked away, just letting her hand slide off his shoulder.  Katherine rubbed the palm of that hand.  It felt odd, like she had just touched something she shouldn't have.  She slowly fell into step behind the last man trundling Leo into the building.  Studying him, she felt the same faintly terrible feeling she had with his teammates.  He didn't take any notice of her eyes boring holes into the side of his face.  He didn't seem tired or bored or focused on his work or anything at all, really.  It was like he was sleepwalking or a puppet or –no, she decidedly did not want to say he felt dead.  New Orleans had already grown frightening enough in the last two minutes, she didn't need animated corpses.    

Katherine shook her head.  It had been a long night, and it was about to get longer; she was just sleep deprived and paranoid.  The man led her to a service elevator and they rode it to the seventh floor.  After she opened the door to her room, the Napoleon Suite, he pushed Leo in.  He deposited the wolf on the couch, making sure to keep the blanket in between it and the cushions only after she told him to.  He left the room, but not before Katherine heard an odd groan –or a yawn.  She felt instantly relieved and a little foolish.  Animated corpses indeed; the only thing those men had been was dead on their feet.  

Leo huffed in his sleep, bringing her attention back to him.  She decided his unconscious self was a glory hound.  Staring at him and his large size, she found she was glad he had been put up in her rooms without her having to lift a finger.  _'One problem solved,'_ she thought miserably,_ 'but not the big one.  The LeBeaus know my face.  Tattoos aren't going to disguise me when there are pictures to compare my face with.  I need to look different.  Damn her.  It's the most important thing right now.'  _Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about it.  Katherine undid her choker necklace and took a deep breath.  Somewhere along the line, she had gotten hot.  The heat was making her tired.  Looking at the wolf mutant, she decided it would be best to wake him up as soon as possible so she would still be awake enough to interrogate him.  Searching around the series of rooms, Katherine wondered where her goodies' box had been placed.  She needed that nasal spray Mystique had talked about.  What she really wanted to do was storm down to the Blue Bitch's lair and cram her photograph down the woman's throat, but it had been heavily stressed that there was little time.  

As Katherine looked through drawers, she wondered exactly what Mystique had meant in their short, one-sided conversation.  Was Nathan truly going to eat Knave's fille?  Why had the woman called him an it and talked about "its" kind?  Hopefully she wouldn't have to know.  She straightened and threw her hands up in defeat.  The box was no where to be found; Mystique hadn't had it brought up to the room for her.  Her eyes angrily flicked to the hotel phone resting on the desk in the lounge.  She strode over to it, determined to somehow get the woman on the line.  As she did, her eyes slid a little to the right, and she wanted to smack herself in the forehead.  The metal box lay there neat and prim at the desk's center, waiting to be opened.  She walked the rest of the way muttering something about things always being in the only place one didn't look.

She ghosted her hand through the airtight box and tripped the mechanism that opened the lid.  After fishing through the many papers, a computer lock pick, a bottle of the dreaded _pill_, and several odds and ends that she had no clue of the purpose of, she finally found a small, unmarked bottle of nasal spray.  She hoped it was the right one.  Katherine started to shut the lid of the box, but stopped.  There lay her little wrapped present with an important looking attached note reading "open me."  She took it out as well.  Then she took the folder she had taken from the fille's car and placed it in the box.  After closing its lid, she set her present on top of it.

Inserting the spray's tube into Leo's nostril, the girl shoved thoughts of death by overdose from her mind and pumped once.  As she capped the thing and ghosted it into the storage bin otherwise known as her belly, there was a loud snort and an odd crunching noise.  Leo –now human- shot from one side of the long couch to the other.  He sneezed several times in rapid succession and shook his head vigorously, then sneezed some more.  The spray obviously worked, and violently.  

It took him a while to become aware of his surroundings.  Katherine took advantage of the time by looking away.  Silently, she berated herself, _'Fool!  What do you get when you take a wolf and morph him into a human?  You get a big, naked man!!'_  

Thankfully, the big, naked man felt very cold and wrapped himself up tight in the provided blanket.  He looked frightened and a little shell shocked, to tell the truth.  She could relate to the feeling.  Studying his face and trying not to glance towards other areas, she couldn't help but notice how terribly innocent he looked, like a huge puppy with big, bright eyes.  Katherine stared at him, wondering what to do; he seemed to be freezing to death very quickly.  It was odd, considering like she was about to collapse from heat exhaustion.  She considered her options.  She couldn't call up room service and ask for a set of men's clothes, nor did she want to give him tea or coffee.  He had enough chemicals roiling around in his brain; caffeine wouldn't helps things.  "Do you want some coffee?" she heard herself ask.  "Something decaf?"

Leo stared at her like she had spoken Eskimo.  It took her a minute to recognize his face, but she eventually recalled that she wore a similar expression whenever Mystique did something unexpectedly humane.  The look said, _"I'm your prisoner; what the Hell are you playing nice for?"_  She scowled, and told him frankly, "I did _not_ kidnap you, so stop acting shocked."  While he digested that bit of information, she inwardly fumed.  The last people she wanted to be compared to were Mystique and Nathan –the kidnapper of Knave's fille, yet there he was, making the assumption that she had carried him off and was holding him prisoner.  

Taking the decision from him, she walked to the phone and dialed room service.  After deciphering what the Asiatic woman on the line had actually said to her, she ordered, "Bring up a large pot of _decaffeinated _coffee immediately."  As the woman repeated the simple order, still managing to get it wrong, Katherine heard a faint whimper.  She glanced towards the couch and watched Leo force out the word "food" through chattering teeth.  It took a minute before she understood.  Healing so quickly had to have taken a lot out of him; he was starving.  She quickly added a basket of hot rolls, bouillabaisse, cooked vegetables, lamb chops, and a pint of Ben and Jerry's to her request.

The mutant werewolf did a double take when she ordered the ice cream.  Katherine rolled her eyes at him.  "Just because you're an ice cube doesn't mean I am," she explained.  She schlepped off the leather jacket she had worn most of the night and pulled some damp hair off the back of her neck.  There was a tiny sound.  She glanced at Leo sidelong and watched him try to sniff without being noticed.  It reminded her a bit of Logan.  She briefly wondered what the big cigar smoking lug had been up to while she was gone.  After a few of his surreptitious sniffs, she said softly, "I don't have a scent, do I."  It wasn't a question.  "Don't worry your head over it," she told him.  

Katherine looked at him; he looked close to catching pneumonia.  She decided he needed another blanket or two –and some clothes, though she didn't know how to get some for him.  She looked around the lounge of the Napoleon Suite.  There were four doors.  One she knew led outside, and the other three must have been for the bedrooms and the bathroom.  Refusing to lower herself to eenie-meenie-minee-moe in public, the girl went to the door closest to her.

It opened into pitch blackness.  She spent a while fishing around for a light switch on the wall inside.  Finally, Katherine found it.  She wondered what it was doing at the level of her hip.  As she reached went to flick it on, a fist whizzed through her head and crashed into the doorframe.  The impressive crunch was followed by a flurry of what she assumed was French curses.  Katherine frowned, annoyed that the man she went out of her way to save had just tried to brutally attack her.  Fortunately, such brutish attacks didn't work against her anymore.  Ignoring him, she stared at her hand, which had plunged straight through the wall.  As she pulled it out, her skin brushed the electrical wiring, and the lights flickered for a moment before blowing out.  In the brief flash of light, Katherine was able to see that the room was indeed a bedroom.

Katherine turned to face Leo.  Thankfully, he still had the blanket wrapped around anywhere that counted.  Even if he was horribly rude, at least he had some sense of decency.  She couldn't help but notice the fear on his face.  People who liked to use their fists were terrified when they couldn't hit their target.  "Where is Monsieur LeBeau?" he asked in a slight French accent, taking a step back.  She tried not to stare at him.  Why did he think she knew where Knave was? 

"LeBeau?" she asked finally.

"LeBeau, Remy Etienne," he said, flabbergasted.  "Ze man whose blood is in there!  What did you do wit' him?"

She felt a little tic in her forehead.  Yet again, he was accusing her of kidnapping, even hurting someone.  It didn't matter that she didn't know who Remy LeBeau was or how he managed to spill blood in her hotel room; it was the accusation that stung.  "Look," she said angrily.  "I don't care if your Mister LeBeau bled to death in this room!  For whatever reason he was hurt in here, it had absolutely **_nothing_** to do with me.  Next time you want to attack someone, wait a minute.  Unlike France, in America, people are innocent until proven guilty."  She bit back a wince when the strange bit of trivia flooded her brain.  Katherine pointed to the couch and growled, "Sit back down before I decide to hurt you myself."  

The girl walked into the bedroom and pulled the blanket off the bed.  Taking it out into the light, she looked it over.  There wasn't any blood that she could see.  She took it over to Leo, who was curled up on the couch again.  Banishing cheap jokes about dogs and the "sit" command from her head, she held out the blanket.  He recoiled.  She rolled her eyes.  He obviously had a good sense of smell, but catching the scent of blood on a clean blanket and recognizing who it belonged to was ridiculous.  She wadded up the bedspread and threw it at him.  "Be offended when you aren't about to get frostbite indoors, Francois" she told him coolly.  The girl turned and went to crank up the thermostat, giving Leo the time to wrap himself up with the extra blanket.

With nothing left to do but wait, she sat down on the coffee table by the couch.  So the interrogation began.  "What happened out there-" she paused.  She had almost called him Leo.  She didn't want to let on that she knew who he was.  To cover her sudden break in speech, she snapped her fingers and ordered, "Name."

"Leo," he supplied warily, solving her problem.  She blinked, a little surprised that he would give her the time of day, especially after the fist through brain incident.  Still, she wasn't one to complain.

"Leo, what went on in that alley?" she probed.  He looked away, playing the silent stoic.  So much for him being helpful.  Katherine glared at him; she didn't have the patience.  "Before I toss you out the window, Leo."

"I failed," he answered vaguely after a moment of death glare gridlock.  Katherine wanted to hit him, only she would probably pull something if she did.  Damn the lean, strong, very muscular naked man.  She closed her eyes, wanting to hit herself.  Unfortunately, she wouldn't be able to make it hurt enough.  

A minute passed; she was getting nowhere.  An idea struck her, and she shrugged.  When in doubt, frighten into submission.  Placing her feet firmly on the floor, she concentrated.   She reached out and ghosted the couch.  Leo fell through it onto the floor with a thud.  He scrambled out from inside the sofa in a hurry.  "What happened in that alley," she repeated.  He stared at her up from the floor, and she quirked an eyebrow.  He likely couldn't see it from behind her sunglasses, but he got the message.

Leo looked down at the floor.  "Vampire," he murmured dejectedly.  Katherine's eyes shot up clear past the top of her shades.  Fortunately, he didn't see it.  _'Vampire,'_ she mused.  _'Well, that explains a lot.'_  She sat a moment, digesting the bit of information that screamed, _"Vampires are real!"_  If it was just Leo's word, she would dismiss him as a nut or a liar, but that one word he had spoken made everything make a horrible kind of sense.  If Nathan was a vampire, then it would explain why Mystique called him an "it" and talked about its kind.  It would explain why he called her a human in the alley.  It explained his incredible power and speed.  It explained how he somehow seemed ancient and young at the same time.  Katherine bit her lip.  It was going to be a very long night.  She wondered if the nasal spray was only to knock unconscious people awake.    

"I thought that might be the case," she finally lied through her teeth.  "I'd hoped I was wrong.  Who was she?"

A low growl escaped his lips.  She looked at him, bemused.  A blind man could see he was terrified for his life, yet he still tried to act tough.  "She **is** Mell," he replied coldly.  Katherine catalogued the odd name.  She stifled a sigh; it was time to bluff her way through the mess.  "I didn't say that she was dead, Leo.  Tell me, was this Mell drunk?"

He snorted, "When isn't she?"  Well, that was interesting.

"How long will her blood alcohol be spiked?" she prodded.  He stared at her.  The girl shrugged, "Let's just say his kind don't like Bloody Marys.  Mell is safe as long as her blood is an alcoholic beverage.  Do you how long that will be."

Leo looked at the ceiling and began to rattle off a list a drinks aloud to himself.  Katherine discreetly coughed.  The girl didn't need a vampire buddy; she should have died of alcohol poisoning hours ago. Finally, the mutant wolfman finished the long litany.  "Eleven hours, I suppose.  If ze girl didn't drink earlier, that is."  Katherine could scarcely believe her ears.  Leo was her bodyguard; he risked his life to protect her, and he just let her run off and nearly kill herself with alcohol.  Was she missing something?

"Why did you want to know?" he asked, his voice laced with distrust.

        Katherine cocked her head.  "You do want to me save her, right?"

There was a knock at the door.  Leo watched as the scentless young woman got up and answered it.  She didn't check the peephole but just swung the door open.  He didn't know if she was naïve or if she was invincible and knew it.  He leaned back into the couch only after checking that he wouldn't fall through it.  It had been terrible to find him self in the middle of a solid object.  What if she had decided to stop doing whatever she did and trap him inside?  He shivered. 

He heard her say, "That was fast.  Where's the valet ticket?"  She leaned on the door, opened it a little further.  He balked when he saw what she was talking to.  The corpse stared ahead blankly and she asked for something that Leo didn't catch.  It nodded when she was finished and handed her a slip of salmon colored paper.  She closed the door, thankfully putting the zombie out of sight.  Leo tried not to shake.  They were horrible things, the undead minions.  Some necromancers turned a pretty penny by hiring out their less bright specimens as laborers that kept their mouths shut.  Unfortunately, if a zombie's master lost control, things quickly turned into a real life Resident Evil.  The werewolf once had the privilege of being near a dozen corpses that suddenly went berserk.  He still had nightmares about the experience.

The young woman finished reading something on the paper, and she angrily crumpled it up.  Ignoring him, she walked to the desk.  Her back obscured whatever she did, but when she left, he noticed a slim metal box on the tabletop.  She headed towards what his nose told him was a bathroom.  "Who are you," he heard himself ask.  She didn't look back.  Leo blinked as she walked straight through the closed door, much like he had fallen through the couch.

After a time, she walked out of the bathroom, using the door.  He asked his question again, and she met it with silence.  "Are you a spirit?" he questioned.

She turned and looked at him.  After the longest time, she whispered, "I'm Ghost."  The young woman heard a faint knock and walked to the front door again.  After opening the door, she bent down and picked up a pile of something.  She walked back to him.  After putting herself within range, she tossed him a pack of clothing and then a kit with a red cross on it.  She asked if he knew first aid.

He replied to the affirmative.

"Use it," she ordered.  She walked towards the door a third time, and then stopped.  Without looking away from the exit, she said clearly, "I don't mean this to sound like a threat, but stay in the room if you know what's good for you.  All three of us will go to your home when I get back with Mell."

He blinked, "You can find her?"  No one had been able to find the vampires' nest before, or at least no one that made it back to tell the tale.

She turned, smiled thinly, and told him, "Of course.  I know where the bad guy lives."

}:{           )|(           \:/            }|{               \:/           )|(           }:{

Yay.  Done.  Hey, do you guys mind if I cut out here to work on the above mentioned exclusively Romy "Thief of Spirits?"  It will mean cliffing the Mell dies(?) part for an extended period of time.  Positives: it may take a few nail-biting weeks, but when I return, you guys can finally get the romance you came for.  

Damn, I'm getting damned redundant about that damn Romy bit.  Damn.  Repeating it every damn minute.

...Damn.  ...Damn.  ...Dam...shutting up.   


End file.
